tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34464997708387645522011-06-24T10:58:50.436-07:00The Cous Cous DiariesAnd some other stuffRaphael Cous Cous Levyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12869650008733846170noreply@blogger.comBlogger37125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3446499770838764552.post-23168274927901491672011-06-24T10:07:00.001-07:002011-06-24T10:58:50.465-07:002011-06-24T10:58:50.465-07:00The feel of the linen against my naked flesh<span class="Apple-style-span" >The warmth of the shower. The taste of the hot soup your mum made. Your crisp sheets and comfy bed. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: small; ">A camping trip, no matter how short or pleasant, makes the little comforts you often take for granted so much more enjoyable. It may only have been a day and indeed it wasn't arduous or in any way 'difficult' per say, but there is something about getting home after night(s) away that is very pleasurable. Even if you do have to endure your dad's cutting wit about your smell. </span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: small; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >Having packed away the kit required and the now infamous <i>jew sausage, </i>it was time for school on the day of field day. This field day was, or at least should have been, different because it was organised entirely by the L6 Army section meaning that it would, for once, be a good field day where sitting around doing nothing all day and then cleaning rifles having not fired them at all wouldn't happen. Having safely navigated my injection at 4, I arrived back at school full of optimism for the night and day ahead of me, swiftly putting on combats. I headed over to the CCF block where t</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: small; ">he Army motto of "Hurry up and Wait" was being vindicated with cadets simply standing around waiting for something to happen.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: small; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >Nonetheless, the night exercise which had been carefully, and no doubt painstakingly, planned excited me - I mean, any Army exercise where wearing a stupid hat is encouraged is right up my street. I went for a ridiculous sombrero in case you were wondering. Whilst I cannot speak for the rest of the section, I was certainly looking forward to it. But then bad news came in the form of a phone call from one of the L6 cadets in charge of the day which was later explained upon arrival. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: small; ">It seemed that the plan for the night had been torn up, along with the lessons that I and other L6 cadets would be taking tomorrow, and replaced by an agenda drawn up by Fusiliers who, we were assured, were <i>a rude word. </i>You don't realise it in Yr10 when you are quick to criticise the field days when they invariably go tits up, but it is often not <i>our</i> fault with perfectly well organised field days being ruined for various reasons out of the section's control. Those promises of "It will be amazing when we run it" seem futile now, but then there was nothing that we could really have done. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: small; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >The buying habits of the teachers were then disclosed. The school claim that tuition fees are around 4000 pounds a term for the main school but they don't tell you how much of that goes to the CCF's food budget. From what we learned that night it appears a large sum with stories of enough alcohol for 4 pints for each member of staff only the tip of the ice-burg. You only need to walk around the staff block the next day to see the amount of food bags, with baguettes, cheese, ham, olives, various snacks amongst other things stuffed inside. The thought of a nice baguette with some cheese wetted the appetite for our dinner which was a combination of super noodles, ration packs and sweets. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >It was at this point we actually decided that camping isn't too bad, enjoyable in fact. Sitting around a meal cooking while bitching and talking with friends is most certainly fun, and providing the weather stays dry and mild/warm is something we would actually do. Having pitched up our bashers (basically a poncho attached between two trees with a groundsheet if you are lucky) and eaten, it was time for the night exercise which, if I am honest, was a disappointment. I don't know what our guys had organised, but I am sure it was better than what actually happened especially seeing as I planned on launching an attack, as enemy, wearing my hat whilst singing <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q-Rqdgna3Yw">this</a>. Moving on, we crawled into our bashers and those I was pitching with quickly discovered that ours was far to close to the ground and was essentially like sleeping between two groundsheets. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >Waking up is by far the worst part of any field day. Ignoring the fact it is always at 5am, it is the fact that it is always cold and you seem to have removed one too many layers during the night. Not only that but your boots are cold and it just takes a while to warm up waiting for breakfast to be ready. We had planned lessons for the day with the lesson plan drawn up by my partner in crime for the Cam and Concealment lesson looking pretty good. Of course that had all been scraped the night before, with 3 stands being set up by the Fusiliers - Medical, Cam and Concealment and Survival. All the Fusiliers were, despite what we had been told, quite cool and the lessons were actually relatively enjoyable though it says a lot for your attention span when you end up digging a hole with a stick whilst being told about staying alive. The penultimate activity was a game of stalk where we had to try and get from one end of a field (full of nettles and the like) to the other without being detected. Some were better at this than others, I was just pleased to not be last and to have gotten over 3/4 of the way there. We finally had to transport a <i>causality</i> back to base using a poncho and brute strength. Once you get the encouragement going you forget about the running and carrying, actually enjoying the activity. It helps that we finished second after a tremendous effort!</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >I did say we had hopes for this field day not ending with waiting around and cleaning rifles that weren't used. It did. But then that was, deep down, expected. The mood was lightened with a revolutionary game of "get the sombrero onto someone's head by throwing it like a Frisbee" and regular humming of Mexican music. There was a final treat in store for us though. We played a very special game, a game only Habs Army plays and it is called "How close to (but after) 4.15 can we arrive at school?" We have, once, arrived at school just as the coaches were leaving but no records were to be broken today with it being a full 15 minutes after the coaches departed that we finally arrived, despite only being an hour and a bit away from school and finishing activities at 1. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >Finally getting changed out of the combats that we had worn for the past 24 hours, one boy remarked that he had "the feel of the linen against his naked flesh". </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >Summer Field Day 2k11 was relatively good, and it just goes to show what a positive mindset can do for an event. With that in mind, bring on DofE. </span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3446499770838764552-2316827492790149167?l=westandunited.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Raphael Cous Cous Levyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12869650008733846170noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3446499770838764552.post-65458180544673132922011-06-22T15:35:00.000-07:002011-06-22T16:44:51.914-07:002011-06-22T16:44:51.914-07:00I've been considering a lot recently<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom: .0001pt;line-height:normal"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span lucida="" times="" new="">I, for whatever reason, really enjoy this writing and blogging lark. I make no apologies to anyone that complains about my posts even if they are excessive, for a simple reason - I blog because I enjoy it and I find it strangely comforting, i.e. I do it for me. Glad to have got that off my chest! I mention this because I was thinking of starting this post with 'is it sad that I was considering whether I could write a whole post about lying' but realised that really, even if it is, that it wasn't something I should consider. Rather, I should consider whether or not I will enjoy writing it and reading it back. Indeed I decided that any post about lying would lose relevance to my personal situation and thus it doesn't form part of my "considerations" (which might be analogous to Descartes' Mediations. They aren't, but still.) but there may be a post about lying if it does become relevant. Can I just ask that no one lies to me!</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom: .0001pt;line-height:normal"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span lucida="" times="" new="">It was going back to school that got me "considering" things - the <i>earlier </i>nights (tonight excluded of course) give me more time in that pre-asleep state when lots of deep thinking can occur. While I don't think I would feel comfortable writing all of my thoughts, (especially seeing as those concerned may read them and while names aren't mentioned, inferences may be made) this post shall attempt to explain some of the things I have been considering. </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; color: black; "><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom: .0001pt;line-height:normal"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span lucida="" times="" new="">Firstly, the thing on everyone's lips in the L6 right about now and that is UCAS, University and <i>the future.</i> Frankly, <a href="http://westandunited.blogspot.com/2011/06/change.html">as I have said before</a>, I wish it would <i>f***</i> off until September when I am not as tired and can be more bothered to think about very important stuff. It feels as though UCAS has come round my house, bashed the door down and given me one almighty punch in the face before going, "And what?" and walking out my house. It doesn't help that the Habs buzzword for the UCAS website is refusing to work for me while everyone seems to be having no difficulty whatsoever. A sign? I hope not! I just want to curl up into bed and forget about all those scary words like 'Uni' and 'Job' and 'career' and 'future'! There is a bit of me, perhaps, that is simply scared. Scared of rejection. Scared of the big wide world. And actually, scared of leaving school. Habs has been a part of me for 10 years and I'm not sure I am ready to let that go. It's just so familiar and seems so friendly that really anything else appears like some sort of monster waiting to bite me. It isn't time to leave yet, but thrusting everything that happens after I will leave had made it dawn upon me that it is perhaps nearing the end. </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; color: black; "><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom: .0001pt;line-height:normal"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span lucida="" times="" new="">There is also the more immediate future with DofE, Army Camp and Tanzania all on the horizon. I'm rather excited for all of them actually. DofE will be a chance to put mind over matter and really accomplish something which in Easter seemed so far away. My status in Easter read 'DofE :(' but now read 'DofE BRING IT ON!', just showing how much of a change has been made. Army Camp always promises to be enjoyable, especially this year as it shall be my year in charge and hopefully some positions of responsibility will be chucked my way. Finally Tanzania. I'm literally pumped for this! I cannot wait another minute to get out there for what I think will be an excellent experience. Blog wise, I doubt there will be any internet and of course there will be more important things to do out there, but I intend, if there is time, to write a blog at the end of each day and then post them all when I get back. More on that later.</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; color: black; "><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom: .0001pt;line-height:normal"><span lucida="" times="" new=""><span class="Apple-style-span">Don't even try and flatter yourself by thinking people may speak about you. It only leaves you with the horrible thought of 'what are they saying.' I am sure I would not want to know what anyone says about me, I can't imagine it is all that positive, especially if they feel the need to tell other people and not me but then I actually kind of do. I was walking to Westfield when I heard a girl say to another, "So would you date him?" to which her friend replied, "Nah, he is too short for me,". It gave me a mental image of a really nice guy who happened to be slightly short whom I instantly felt sorry for and as I walked past I coughed "shallow" at the girls. (I looked back, the look on their faces was superb!) It struck me that the guy may never know that that girl happens to think he is too small to be her boyfriend but would definitely know she didn't want to be his girlfriend. Would the guy actually want to know? I can't say, but it is certainly an interesting thought. I know I've said some things in the company of other people and can only wish I knew what they said afterwards when I wasn't around but then at the same time know it would probably not make me exactly happy. The same goes for when you are told that you came up in conversation but they then refuse to say what was said. Complete ignorance might be bliss, but knowing you don't know something, like what people are saying about you or (in the aforementioned guy's case) why you were rejected, is the most horrible thing in the world. Known unknowns, when pondered for too long, are not very nice!</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px; ">There are other things on my mind - my exam results, the ridiculous economics homework I've just been set amongst other things but really only one other thing worth mentioning. And I would mention it if it wasn't a can of worms that is better kept shut and in a locked safe that only I know the combination to. So as one of my thoughts it shall remain, possibly locked away in its mental prison until circumstances allow for its release. My considerations may not be worthy of comparison with Descartes' Mediations, after all I don't get into a horrible pickle regarding G_D and whether not the blog I am writing even exists, but they are a small insight into my thoughts which was hopefully appreciated.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 14px; ">.</span></span></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3446499770838764552-6545818054467313292?l=westandunited.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Raphael Cous Cous Levyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12869650008733846170noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3446499770838764552.post-52582367513580611682011-06-22T10:36:00.000-07:002011-06-22T11:04:07.546-07:002011-06-22T11:04:07.546-07:00Dimitar BerbatovBerbatov has, somehow, managed to split the United faithful ever since his arrival at Manchester United, and even with a return of 20 goals this season in the Premier League there are rumours we may let him go and that, I think, is simply ludicrous.<div><div><br /></div><div>He has been scoring goals. People argue he is lazy but if he scores goals, as he did last season at crucial points, I will happily give him a foot massage for the rest of the match. </div><div><br /></div><div>That is really all I have to say on that one. He is scoring, we need more strikers, not fewer and therefore he should stay.</div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3446499770838764552-5258236751358061168?l=westandunited.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Raphael Cous Cous Levyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12869650008733846170noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3446499770838764552.post-91632732660347572572011-06-20T11:57:00.000-07:002011-06-22T12:52:14.768-07:002011-06-22T12:52:14.768-07:00Wake me up when September ends<span class="Apple-style-span"><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; "><span style="color: black; " >Quite a few people, relative to the amount I assume read the blog, have mentioned that the football stuff isn't as good as the more personal stuff. I completely accept that to be the case, simply because the more personal stuff (I think) is more engaging and while I think that a football lover (which none of those making the mentioned comments are) would enjoy the football ones, I prefer writing the personal ones. It lets me get a lot of things of my chest under the guise of a blog. With that in mind, I set about changing the name of my blog and indeed making it a completely personal blog where football only comes up where relevant - i.e. no posts that are just about football. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; "><span style="color: black; " >Struggling to find a name was the first of the problems I encountered. I toyed with 'The Life and Times of Couscous' or simply 'The Couscous' but wasn't really happy with either, nor was I with any other 'couscous' related names. No one really knows where Couscous comes from and although it is a name I have grown fond of (and am indeed still called) I am not sure it would really make sense. We wouldn't want people thinking this was some sort of Mediterranean food blog, although that doesn't sound like a bad idea! I finally settled on 'It's about me' and was all ready to change it when I suddenly had a thought. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; "><span style="color: black; " >Another problem is not enough stuff actually happens to me. I don't write this blog because I want my readership to gain access into my deep thoughts and feelings (although anyone reading this will do that) but rather because it is really good fun, gives me something to do and, to be frank, I really enjoy it. While I do wish all my blogs to be engaging, funny and all the rest of it, I also want to simply write about stuff whenever I am feeling a bit down and football posts allow me to do that. While the name is still going to change, there will still be posts just about football and I hope you can forgive me for that!</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; "><span style="color: black; " >With that all said, I thought I'd post a quick entry about my first day back at school. Nothing football related is really happening with regards to Manchester United that is worth posting - I understand we have bid for a French defender I have never heard of, and may be about to enter into a bidding war with Chelsea over Luka Modric but there isn't much to say on those, other than I hope we sign the latter and I hope the former is good! </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; "><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span style="color: black; ">Having finished my A-S levels two weeks ago to the day, you would have thought two weeks holiday would have done me good and I'd have returned refreshed, reading to attack the final (pointless) three weeks of term. </span><span style="color: black; ">It doesn't, of course, work like that. There are people with exams still to go and here I am complaining about being exhausted having only, just about, made it through one day. Perhaps I went to bed too late last night (I couldn't sleep) but I didn't get on with my first four lessons, even falling asleep in French despite the hugely engaging topic of integration in France being the topic of discussion. Having just about made it to Philosophy without eating and barely keeping my eyes open, it was a delight to discover that our teacher had been on a course. Why? Because on said course he learnt that we must do more philosophy games in class, an idea that resulted in me having a ball chucked at me as I tried to explain various philosophical <i>things, </i>in the least philosophical way possible. There is a video which I am sure will be uploaded! </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; "><span style="color: black; " >Another thing I noticed is the school seem insistent on cramming as much as possible in during these weeks. The thought of 2 months holiday is too daunting for the school to contemplate, so they seem to have decided that physically killing me (and I am sure many others) with copious amounts of stuff to do is the way forward. A time of year I usually associated with winding down - who did any work after end of year exams and indeed GCSE's were coming to an end about now last year, is now filled to the brim with <i>my future</i>. I, as many others do, really want to go to University and study for another 3 years. I understand that there is a selection process and there will be things for me to do to convince the universities they should pick me. What I want to know, is could this all not go away until next year and give the already battered Lower Sixth a day off? Various reasons mean it couldn't, but nonetheless I wish it would. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; "><span style="color: black; " >School is 'effort' at the moment, but I say bring it on because in 4 weeks I shall be in Tanzania and in 6 weeks it is my birthday. Always looks to the future!</span><span style="font-size: 11.5pt; font-family: Georgia, serif; color: black; "><o:p></o:p></span></p></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3446499770838764552-9163273266034757257?l=westandunited.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Raphael Cous Cous Levyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12869650008733846170noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3446499770838764552.post-4218430247886171882011-06-19T11:29:00.000-07:002011-06-19T13:39:34.642-07:002011-06-19T13:39:34.642-07:00Are we actually going on a boat?<span class="Apple-style-span">More on the boat later.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">The introduction for my day at Taste of London with 3 awesome(ish) people can be found <a href="http://westandunited.blogspot.com/2011/06/i-promised-id-be-myself.html">here</a> and I do recommend a read of it before you read the rest of this post. </span><span class="Apple-style-span">I did indeed promise to be myself and I think I kept my promise, even if that meant bad jokes and poor stories galore. I realised that writing everything remotely funny that happens to me in my blog is, perhaps, not a great idea - I now can't use my stories as small talk with anyone that reads my blog. As a circular matter, most of those I would be making small talk with, read my blog. It is a nightmare! I now, as my dad and his dad before him, start my stories with, "Stop me if you've heard this one before," and continue regardless.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">I thought I'd just start with some of the problems and have a brief rant about them. Firstly, Regents Park station was closed. Why it was closed I do not know. All I do know is, it shouldn't have been closed - classic London Underground. Secondly, Taste of London and their tickets. They employ a company called "see tickets" to sell the tickets for Taste of London. You'd think this was to make it easier but no, it is so when you have a problem with your ticket they can say "It isn't our fault, that is a <i>see ticket</i>, you'll have to take it up with them" and piss you off. Suffice to say an angry letter from a Mr R Levy will be heading their way. Finally, I lost my wallet. Grrr. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">Back to the food. I'm not going to lie, it was amazing. Such variety and despite it possibly being a touch expensive, with the amount of crowns (Taste of London currency) I had for free that really didn't matter. I started the day with 240 crowns + someone else had about 50. I now only have 24, meaning we spent 270 crowns, or £135 on food (and alcohol). Indeed, most of this spending was me - a</span><span class="Apple-style-span">s others fell by the wayside, only mustering one or two dishes, I soldiered on determined to eat as much as was humanly possible. Goose liver, a Foie Gras Burger and a rather delicious Steak burger were the main course highlights while there was a cheesecake mousse that I could have eaten all day long. (And, believe me, I tried!) I also abused the "no ID" requirement, drinking a little too much considering I don't usually drink. Although I don't think I was actually drunk, I did manage to let one of the people with me sip a drink with pomegranate in it, despite having a long discussion with her in the car about what she must avoid eating - pomegranate being one of those things. It even reached the stage where I was strangely promoting drinking and driving telling the girl who was driving me home she could have a drink if she wanted. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">I was warned about the mud but didn't really think much of it. Even being picked up by someone wearing pink wellies (which I must admit falling in love with!) didn't make me think twice about whether or not I was prepared for a muddy park. I was, by the way, humoured by the fact that "wellies" insists on auto-correcting to "willies". And while it didn't have much effect on me because I am sensible, the other half of our foursome encountered problems. A white dress was certainly not a clever move, but at least her shoes didn't become muddy wrecks while walking around Taste which was indeed rather (very) muddy. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">Having consumed my body weight in food, we took a walk down to the boat lake with the apparent intention of renting a boat. I refused to believe we were actually doing this and must have asked "Are we actually going on a boat?" about 30 times, convinced that no one goes to a food festival and then, when their belly is full of food, decides to randomly go on a boat. Despite this, we did actually go on a </span><span class="Apple-style-span">pedalo. Two things emerged very quickly. Firstly, someone is going to need some new shoes. A pool of water had formed in one of gaps where the pedals were making the shoes, socks and trousers of anyone pedalling there very wet. I think there may be some pictures on facebook, which I may have taken. Secondly, geese are scary. They just are.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">The boat trip was actually really enjoyable even if I was insulted via text during the journey. I, as you may know, am neither the smallest nor the lightest of people. I expected the <i>we'll all go this side of the boat and Raph can go the other side</i> balance jokes from everyone I was with, and indeed they did arrive at various moments. What I did not expect was to get such insults by text. It started with someone else receiving a text about it, telling her it was surprising the boat was still afloat before I received a text saying "Glug glug glug splash." I was not amused. I then got ice cream after so it is all good. </span></div><div></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">The day ended in a rather<i> </i>interesting fashion with one of us walking through Regents Park holding his shoes which were soaking wet, while repeated attempts to ditch me failed. An emotional farewell was made at Baker Street Station before the trip back to Stanmore ended with the taking the piss out of me in the third person. You know, when someone goes "That Raph bloke...such a dick" and then I go "Oh yeah, I also hear..." and it carries one with varying degrees of insults being thrown at <i>Raph</i>, mainly very hurtful things. They say all's well that ends well but losing my wallet and being insulted by myself did mean a rather painful end to the day!</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">As I sit here and look down at and rub my belly, which is currently about twice the size it was, I reflect on a good day. I needn't have worried about any awkwardness with the small talk flowing and some laughter, eventually, coming. It was really good fun, and despite losing my wallet, a day that will remain long in the memory with great company, great food and great banter - what more could I ask for? If anyone wants to go next year, let me know because, e</span><span class="Apple-style-span">xam permitting, my relationship with the Taste of London Food Festival shall enter its third happy year. </span></span></div><div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3446499770838764552-421843024788617188?l=westandunited.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Raphael Cous Cous Levyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12869650008733846170noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3446499770838764552.post-24736048568770627322011-06-17T14:21:00.000-07:002011-06-19T11:34:29.577-07:002011-06-19T11:34:29.577-07:00I promised I'd be myself<span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">I try and tell a story with some of these blog posts, and if we return to the <a href="http://westandunited.blogspot.com/2011/06/what-am-i-even-doing.html">How I met your Mother</a> theme, it is somewhat like that programme. Much like that programme, indeed, the girl that features a lot (i.e. the mother) is not named and indeed the story is told as if she doesn't know about it. Sod's law dictates that she will now read this post and assuming my subtle and bad hints about my blog haven't led her here before it will be her first read of my blog. Anyone reading this will remember that girl from my <a href="http://westandunited.blogspot.com/2011/06/perhaps-i-should-clarify-my-shit-week.html">"unfortunate" week</a>, well today was the first time I'd seen her <i>since</i>. I have spoken to her and all seemed well, but you can never really know until you see each other again. </span><span class="Apple-style-span">There's a part of each of you that <i>knows</i> what happened and it is always going to be a little awkward, or at least I prepared myself for that. </span><span class="Apple-style-span">I did promise myself, at least, that I would be myself - my sarcastic, bad joke-making self. </span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">Ok, I tell a lie. I love writing so much, and this introduction is not dependent upon the day's events, that I am actually writing it Friday Night, while trying to convince my mum that it will rain tomorrow and we shouldn't do a car boot sale. </span><span class="Apple-style-span">This next bit is dependent on future events. 2 friends either did come, or due to very unfortunate circumstances (which regardless I hope work[ed] out for the best) did not. A useful by-product of their planned attendance was, perhaps, to reduce any possible awkwardness. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Sitting here, I've got to be honest, I do think it would be awkward to a certain extent regardless if it is just me and her or the four of us. A few text conversations should have put my mind at ease - they seemed as they were before but then holding down a conversation when you can't see any reaction or body language is easy. She doesn't know that with every text I received from her, I went "Raph you are an idiot" to myself and made it awkward between me and a mobile phone. I don't know whether or not every text from me made her think of what I did and although I probably shouldn't flatter myself to be honest, you see my point. How would my casual joke about my dad's maturity in going "ooooo girlfriend" be taken in person? I really don't want to find out, but the ratio of my bad jokes to (what I can only assume is) polite fake laughter from her will be a damning assessment of our relationship, or in my eyes anyway. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">There are potential pitfalls before I even get to Baker Street, where I may or may not meet with the other 2 people coming. Having only told her that the quickest way to get there was from Stanmore and not suggesting how to get to Stanmore, she said "So I'll give you a lift to Stanmore" as she would have done before. But it isn't before, it is now (duh) and I've now got to sit in a car and not be awkward - there is no where to hide. What is worse, is I can't even make jokes about her driving, something which would be the norm (you would think) if you were a passenger in a recently passed's car. 2 reasons for this - she is a good driver and she is also a driving Nazi who scares me. I feel awkward when there is only a silence, can you imagine a silence which will fill my mind with "This silence is <i>because of that</i>"? That means I've got to make proper conversation but without mentioning how my dad said he'd come and shout "Ooo girlfriend" at us and other related comments. I'm sure if you could, and you weren't reading this after the event, you would have wished me luck. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">I'm also slightly worried about giving her the present I bought her. I don't really know why, I suspect it is because under normal circumstances remembering an offhand comment from a few months ago and then acting upon that comment would warrant a hug. For the record, she told me about how she has many t-shirts that say "I <i>heart" </i>and then a place name, but didn't have/lost her Israel one. Deciding there and then that I'd get her an "I <i>heart</i> Israel" t-shirt, I even went as subtly extract her size from her - claiming to want to buy my mum a present etc. Moreover, I think I am fuelled by hugs and actually would really want one, just for getting a hug's sake but I know I'll say something stupid at some point before that will make the moment a bit more awkward. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">I think that's as far as I can go without knowing what actually happened. We'll pick this up on Sunday.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">As you have discovered, I initially wrote this two days ahead of schedule to form part of what seemed an inevitable blog about a food festival on Sunday. The more I wrote, the more I realised that I didn't want to be sitting on this for two days, and indeed a lot of what I am writing may not be as relevant then either. So I've decided to post this introduction to the food festival, so you can see (if you cared) how I am feeling a couple of days before. Now assume this was the first paragraph, and change the first sentence to begin "As you will read on and discover".</span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3446499770838764552-2473604856877062732?l=westandunited.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Raphael Cous Cous Levyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12869650008733846170noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3446499770838764552.post-60010222479930710232011-06-17T06:45:00.001-07:002011-06-17T07:16:22.292-07:002011-06-17T07:16:22.292-07:00Sticking your nose in...<span class="Apple-style-span">...Where it does not belong.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">I am not an Aston Villa Fan and to be quite frank, I could not care less who they appoint as their new manager but I can't resist a chance to put my opinion forward and possibly provoke some Aston Villa fans along the way. (I don't actually know anyone that supports Aston Villa, so I think I am okay). </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">There are a few things to note here:</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">1. Aston Villa are not a big club. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Big clubs hold onto their key players and with Barry and Milner leaving in previous seasons and Friedel, Young and possibly Downing all leaving this season, Villa have not been doing that. There is some sympathy to be offered when Manchester City come waving their millions in the general direction of any (average) player but if Villa wish to be branded a big club they must hold onto their best players. Moreover, since O'Neil left them (ironically because they were selling their top players and he felt he couldn't take them further) they've been in decline with a very poor finish in the league this season. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Not being a big club means you cannot pick and choose your manager, you cannot eliminate a good manager purely on the basis of who he has managed before. When Ferguson retires United will have every right to turn around and not offer Mourinho the job because he managed Chelsea (they'd be stupid to, and I'll deal with that later) because United are in a position where all managers would die for the chance to take up the hot seat. Villa don't have that. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">2. Mcleish is actually a good manager! </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">I said United would have every right to discriminate against Mourinho because of his previous jobs, but they shouldn't because José is a top manager and would do a good job. While Mcleish isn't in the same league, he is certainly good enough for Aston Villa and given the backing, which if Randy Lerner is brining him in has to give him, he has the ability to do a good job there. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Aston Villa wouldn't complain one bit if he hadn't managed Birmingham City and in light of the above (big club), they should count themselves lucky that anyone wants to take over there - it is damning when Roberto Martinez turns down the job and he manages a team that plays in front of a half empty stadium each week. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">3. Get on with it</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">I take issue with so called <i>fans</i> that don't give the team the full backing. That includes the manager! The most important thing about the MUST campaign to rid United of the blood sucking leeches that are the Glazer Family was that our protests should not harm the success of the team - Old Trafford is still full every week, with support for the team never wavering. You don't like the manager? Suck it up and give him a chance! If he fails, then say I told you so but there is no point not getting behind him - if you want him to fail just to prove a point, then you don't love your club as much as you perhaps claim. I always stuck by Berbatov and he is now the league's top scorer. I stuck by Rooney and he scored vital goals against Blackburn, City, Chelsea and West Ham to name but a few. There is always a time to turn around and pull the plug but it is certainly not before a chance has even been given.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">4. It isn't like he was a Birmingham <i>legend</i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Villa fans are acting as if this man is a secret Birmingham City spy, brought in only to plot Aston Villa's relegation on purpose. He is just a football manager who will want success where ever he plays. I could understand Ranger's fans being outraged if Neil Lennon was in the frame to become their new manager because of the history Neil Lennon has with Celtic. Even ignoring the fact that Rangers-Celtic is a far deeper rivalry than the Second City one, Mcleish isn't exactly the first name a Birmingham City fan would pick to name their son. He isn't a manager that embodied Birmingham City and rubbished Villa every chance he got - he will want to do well, Villa fans should want him to do well.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">5. So what! </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">Busby was a Liverpool and Manchester City player yet he went on to become one of the greatest Managers in United's history. Eric Cantona played for Manchester United's great rivals Leeds before turning around our fortunes. </span><span class="Apple-style-span">Football is built on these rivalries and I completely accept that and indeed love it. But when a man wants to come in, as I am sure Alex does, and do a good job where he has been before should have no relevance. Just think where United would be if they looked at Busby and said, "Hmmmm, yeah you could create the greatest team to ever play the game only for them to be tragically taken from us. You could manage Manchester United to European Cup success but you know what? Nah, you used to play for Manchester City." Or just as bad, "Sorry Eric, we know you will help us win our first league title in 26 years but you play for Leeds," It is a ludicrous notion.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">What is the money that if Mcleish gets them, to say 7th behind United, Chelsea, Liverpool, Arsenal, City and Spurs which is perfectly plausible that Villa fans stop crying? Give him a chance is all I say.</span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3446499770838764552-6001022247993071023?l=westandunited.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Raphael Cous Cous Levyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12869650008733846170noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3446499770838764552.post-912732256377258412011-06-16T11:55:00.000-07:002011-06-16T12:47:52.750-07:002011-06-16T12:47:52.750-07:00Independence<span class="Apple-style-span" >It is a known fact that my parents simply do not love me. Anyone who goes by car from school knows that I am often the last to leave the car park, as my dad (a mere 5 minutes away) sips away at his second cup of tea and blissfully forgets that I am still at school. It is not an exaggeration to say that I have been waiting in that car park past 6.15, having finished school at 4, in the rain and cold but my dad will just remind me that he isn't a taxi service<i> </i>and that I have no right to expect to be picked up on time. He just says that he has things which are more important and pressing (I don't understand why this <i>putting food on the table</i> is so important but anyway) to deal with and they all, or so it seems to me, happen at 4.15 precisely. </span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >Having established that my parents don't love me, it shouldn't surprise you to know I am writing this while home alone (well my sister is home, but she is so useless that she doesn't count - refuses to make me dinner for example!) with my parents out at a food festival. I've grown to accept that my parents are insistent on having a life, even if it means that my dinner is in some way compromised! Home alone for 1 evening is nothing really to shout about and indeed, albeit a struggle, I managed to make some dinner with a turkey sandwich the dish of the day. (Do note how the food is what concerns me)</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span">What worries me is the summer. Teenagers will <i>rebel</i> for independence, and often claim that their parents don't give them enough. Perhaps this is true, but it is not a problem that I suffer from. I'm not sure if it is because my parents trust me or think I am horribly boring but I seem to have that independence, to an extent, that so many crave - the statement, "I may be very late," will only yield the response, "Where are you going and make sure you take your keys, I don't want to have to stay up for you." I am most certainly not complaining, but perhaps my explanation of this summer will show my concerns as t</span><span class="Apple-style-span">here is a major difference between coming home in the early echelons of the morning and what I face this summer. My parents, almost as if to confirm the face they don't actually love me, are going away for 2 weeks and leaving me home alone for the period (my sister is in Israel). I wasn't offered the opportunity to go with them wherever they were going, and while Israel was an option, I don't do well when it is that hot. So I decided to stay. What I didn't realise was how much more difficult that would be than the one evening here or there. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span">My mum just bbmed me and asked me to put on the washing machine. The clothes were already in there and apparently I only had to "push a button". This was, quite simply, a lie. It was a complex mixture of pressing every button and shouting for my sister who, as it turns out, does have her uses and can use the washing machine. It hit me that for 2 weeks my clothes would just remain, worn, in various places in my house. I may try and use a washing machine, but short of starting a minor flood I am not sure what I will achieve. </span><span class="Apple-style-span">Next comes this food issue. I love food, and indeed I am a dab hand in the kitchen but that is a far cry from the superb food my mum cooks on a daily basis. Last night we had slow cooked lamb, roast potatoes and veg with a simply amazing sauce. Tonight I had a turkey sandwich and I even managed to burn the bread. Not having the knowledge that at the end of the day, there will be a meal waiting for me on the table will be hard to deal with. Fingers crossed the house doesn't burn down in their absence! </span><span class="Apple-style-span">The final thing I'll have to deal with is being on my own. While I do not spend most of my time sitting with my parents, it is certainly nice to walk downstairs and see someone there, to perhaps have a colourful exchange with my father for example. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span">There is a horrible cliché that goes "You don't know what you have until you lose it". I am not losing my parents but f</span><span class="Apple-style-span">or two weeks I will be looking after myself and with no female influence in my life, I am not sure how I will get any housework done. That isn't a cheap sexist joke, it is just true that my mum does all the housework. I don't think they would be surprised if they came back to find pasta stuck to the sides of the windows and my dirty clothes forming a barrier against the front door because I heard someone outside.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >Teenagers fight on a daily basis for independence. I hope my will for it remains as great after the two weeks. </span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3446499770838764552-91273225637725841?l=westandunited.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Raphael Cous Cous Levyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12869650008733846170noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3446499770838764552.post-55057351861526782212011-06-15T10:19:00.001-07:002011-06-19T12:52:25.263-07:002011-06-19T12:52:25.263-07:00History Day<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; "><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span style="color: black; ">You'd have thought the last few weeks of exams after a long (and hard) year of school, with only more difficult and more stressful times to come, that the Haberdashers' Aske's Boys' School's History and Economics students would have deserved a holiday until school officially restarted on the 20th June. </span><span style="color: black; ">Of course, you would have thought wrong because the imaginatively named <i>History </i>Day was organised to get us out of bed and doing something, when really doing nothing would have been the selected option by almost all. </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; "><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span style="color: black; ">I had just got back from a delightful week in Israel and prepared myself for getting through Passport control wearing flip-flops, shorts and a t-shirt with an Israel passport that is 2 months from expiration. I was told to sit in the "Immigration pen" along with an Indian man speaking questionable English, an immigration officer that was, essentially, Taaj from</span><span style="color: black; "> </span><i><span style="color: black; ">Come Fly With Me</span></i><span style="color: black; "> and a goat. There, for some reason, is always an animal. Ok, so there wasn't a goat, but it smelt like there was one - something about Airports means that are not allowed to ever be cleaned and thus the floor just stinks. The guy came back, asked me if I lived here and when I replied that I did, he said he would "take</span><i><span style="color: black; "> </span></i><span style="color: black; ">me as a Brit and ignore my</span><span style="color: black; "> </span><i><span style="color: black; ">get up.</span></i><span style="color: black; ">" Not quite sure that what I was wearing should determine whether or not I am allowed into the country, I just accepted it and moved swiftly on. This from the same border control that let my dad into the country on my passport, with the guy (when I explained that I didn't have my passport because my dad, who was picking up the baggage already, had it) claiming to, "Have been tired,". </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; "><span style="color: black; "><span class="Apple-style-span" >I got back late, and wasn't really in the mood when I woke up the next morning for a train journey (which cost me £12.55!) into central London, even if breakfast at Starbucks, St. Pancras and Starbucks, Holborn beckoned. Even the sight of a solid 9.5/10 waiting at the platform at Radlett station couldn't perk me up (well, not all of me) and I drearily made my way onto the train. </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; "><span style="color: black; "><span class="Apple-style-span" >Fuelled up, we awaited the arrival of the brains behind the History Day, a man whose main claim to fame involves working at a Sainsbury's and <i>friendly</i> people at the meat counter, before we were led into a room at LSE and the day began. It began, I have to admit, rather well with a really engaging (in my opinion) speaker. Although the topic, on the face of it, appeared rather dull, it was quite interesting and good discussion followed after. We'll ignore the face that one question smacked of obviousness and appeared to essentially ask if people in the Industrial Revolution were motivated by money. Although I hadn't forgotten about the lie-in so cruelly robbed of me, I had honestly been interested by part one, and hoped part would follow suit. </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; "><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span style="color: black; ">Days out with the History Department at Habs seldom pass without an event of some sort. Sometimes, as with the History Trip to Paris in Year 9, the</span><span style="color: black; "> </span><i><span style="color: black; ">route</span></i><span style="color: black; "> chosen by Mr Saddington will take you through the Red Light district at midnight or, as with the battlefields trip shortly after, two boys will hurriedly emerge from their hotel room very late claiming the alarm didn't go off. There was a combination this time. Firstly a fire in a nearby building, and then 3 boys turning up late after lunch. </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; "><span style="color: black; "><span class="Apple-style-span" >Perhaps I should have known that I wasn't going to enjoy, that much anyway, what followed. It involved walking in the heat without any water. Not really my thing, if I am honest. While I do exaggerate, and hope to complete DofE Gold in a couple of weeks with training still being undertaken, it wasn't exactly how I wanted to spend lunchtime on such a lovely day. Don't get me wrong, the tour was interesting et al but I didn't think it is worth missing the lie-in on what is essentially a holiday for me still. It wasn't anything special, and I would have much rather been at school taking part in the pathetic excuse for lessons that will occur from next week if I was fated to wake up early. </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span style="color: black; ">An idea that has its merits, and indeed is worthwhile for the most part, History day should continue for future history students at Habs. Perhaps the date could be more sympathetic - would it really harm anyone moving it to a week where everyone is at school but isn't really</span><span style="color: black; "> </span><i><span style="color: black; ">studying</span></i></span><span style="color: black; "><span class="Apple-style-span" >, but nonetheless, it certainly turned out to be much more enjoyable than expected. </span><i> </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 11.5pt; font-family: Georgia, serif; color: black; "><o:p></o:p></span></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3446499770838764552-5505735186152678221?l=westandunited.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Raphael Cous Cous Levyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12869650008733846170noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3446499770838764552.post-50109595595246618212011-06-12T14:20:00.000-07:002011-06-12T15:14:46.401-07:002011-06-12T15:14:46.401-07:00Eating a whole watermelon<span class="Apple-style-span" >The title has no relevance to this blog post. I just happen to be eating an entire watermelon at the moment and wanted somewhere to post that. No, this blog, is about my dad. I wouldn't call him the jealous type, but ever since I wrote the post about <a href="http://westandunited.blogspot.com/2011/06/my-mum-and-her-things.html">my mum</a> he's been dropping subtle hints that I should write one about him, and even stronger ones since I wrote the one about <a href="http://westandunited.blogspot.com/2011/06/one-person-i-cant-say-no-to.html">my grandmother</a>. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: small; ">I was tempted to just completely take the <i>piss </i>and innocently say "well you never said it had to be nice", but I figured that wouldn't go down well and actually it wouldn't be <i>that </i>funny. So here goes, one "nice" post about my dad. </span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: small; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: small; ">I like to keep my writing fresh and new, so can't go down the "list funny observations while subtly making fun of, before ending with compliments" or the "list the stuff about the person that make him/her who they are" routes. I've decided to describe my dad through stories and things that have actually happen to us because they pretty much sum up <i>us. </i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: small; "><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >Possibly my favourite is a regularly told story about an incident that happened after we returned from a Chinese. My dad and I have play fights on a regular basis. So cue, on return from the restaurant, a play fight erupt. I think I threw shoe at my dad to start it or something. Multiple shoe throws and umbrella attacks, I went upstairs (as the winner of course) and pulled out my phone. To my disbelief, a phone call to the police had been going on for about 4 minutes (almost the entirety of the fight) - this was due to the lock menu on a blackberry having an "emergency" shortcut button. I quickly hung up and hoped that would be the end of it. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: small; ">It wasn't, of course, the end of it. About 30 seconds later I got a call back from the police. The conversation is as follows . (Police in Blue, me in black)</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: small; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: small; "><span class="Apple-style-span" >Hello, this is Hertfordshire police, is everything ok?</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: small; "><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: small; ">Erm, huh? everything is fine...</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: small; "><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: small; "><span class="Apple-style-span" >We just got a call from this numb...</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: small; "><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: small; ">...Oh that would have been (breathing quite heavily at this point) because my phone has a lock menu and erm. On the erm. Menu is well, there is like a menu with emergency numbers as a shortcut. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: small; "><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: small; "><span class="Apple-style-span" >Ok ok, can we please have your address?</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: small; "><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: small; ">Why? Everything is fine.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: small; "><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: small; "><span class="Apple-style-span" >We need to come down and check it out, we heard fighting with a female in the background.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: small; "><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: small; ">Female?! That would have been my dad, we were having a play fight. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: small; "><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: small; "><span class="Apple-style-span" >So are you sure everything is ok?</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: small; "><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: small; ">Yes yes</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: small; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >The police, thankfully, didn't arrest my dad for sounding (and punching) like a women but still, a rather humorous event. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >A lot of our <i>banter</i> is food/drink related. As unfunny as it is, I regularly will eat the sandwich he has just made or hide the cheese he just took out. Two food stories stick out though:</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >1. The milk incident. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >My dad LOVES a cup of tea. I've phoned him up before to pick me up and he has simply said "Tea more important, 10 minutes" and hung up. Anyway, back to the milk. We wre down to our last bottle of milk and after I had a glass, the last part of the last bottle. My dad walks in and says: Don't finish the milk. I need a cup of tea. So he walks out leaving the tea to brew. Naturally the milk, in some way, has got to go before he comes back so I pour the remainder into a glass and hide it in a cupboard. My dad comes back and I can barely contain my laughter as he goes to pour out the milk. Suffice to say he FREAKS. I mean starts screaming and screaming until I, in hysterics at this point, open the cupboard it was hidden in. He just smiles, visibly angry at me but still slightly amused at how "I had got him" Ahh. Classic. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >2. The Cream Cheese Bagel Incident. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >I was eating a cream cheese bagel and my dad just walked up to me and pushed the bagel into my face. That's basically it.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >Regular water fights do also <i>go down</i>. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >Sometimes my dad will just say "something" off hand. Being almost as sarcastic as me, and where I get my humour from, a cutting comment is never far away. Having turned off his hairdryer (he is also a bit of a girly girl when it comes to his hair) a couple of times, he turns to me, without a hint of humour and says "If you do that one more time, I will burn....your...willy." I could write an entire post about his comments, and they are a lot of "had to be there" ones but the speed of thought of the comments is impressive. I could, as suggested, start a "shit my dad says" site but facebook and twitter will do for now.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >A post about my dad couldn't be posted without a mention of his reaction to a girl's name being mentioned in the house - "OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO Girl" That is all. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >So from that, I hope you have gathered that, although my dad, I would consider him a friend and a very good one at that. We watch football together, fight together, make jokes together, make fun of my mum and sister together etc etc. We have great fun, even if I spend a little too much time apologising for making fun of his sticky out ears (sorry dad), and I can't imagine many have a relationship with their father quite like I do. And I wouldn't, as I hope he wouldn't, change it for the world.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >I've ended every family related post with "I love you..." and decided I had to end this the same way. I love you...bakewell tarts. (And dad, of course)</span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3446499770838764552-5010959559524661821?l=westandunited.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Raphael Cous Cous Levyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12869650008733846170noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3446499770838764552.post-41276518647325767392011-06-12T11:06:00.000-07:002011-06-12T11:40:06.427-07:002011-06-12T11:40:06.427-07:00The one person I can't say no to...<span class="Apple-style-span" >...is my Grandmother.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >My mum asked me to write something about my grandmother, or "safta" (Hebrew for grandmother) as she is known by all, including my English "doesn't speak a word of Hebrew" father and will be referred to as in this post. I'll be honest, I didn't want to and I think my reason is justifiable. Unfortunately, while our family hopes and prays that she will live for many years to come, we accept that there aren't exactly decades remaining. I can see myself, in years to come, coming back to read this post and I know it will make me upset. I know I'll cry as a result of it and while you will never forget, sometimes being reminded of the things you loved about people can make you more upset about them not being around. But I decided to write one nonetheless. For the very reason that I want my own, personal, memento of her that I will read in years to come. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >She is called Rachel and was born in Baghdad in...er...well...erm...er..we don't know what year or the date she was born but she was definitely born. She escaped from Iraq in the 50's and moved to Tel Aviv, where she lives to this day. Just to clarify, she is my mum's mum. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >I have become very close to safta recently, despite the limited time I spend in Israel with her, especially since my grandfather's death, a person I regretted not getting to know better. I'm not going to talk about the unfortunate illnesses or problems that she has, because I want this post to bring back happy memories but let's just say she isn't the healthiest of women. Rather, I'd like to focus on some of the things about her that make me smile or that are typical of her. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >1. Trying to make me eat.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >I don't know what it is, but I seem to put on 5 kilos every time I come to Israel. Having cut out the fizzy drinks and eating rubbish, it must be the fact that a conversation with safta cannot pass without "Raphael there are...." or "Raphael, I just made...." or "Raphael, why don't you have some of...?" There is an obsession with making me eat anything and everything. And you can't say no, or at least I can't, so I have to eat. And eat. And eat. I'm not complaining, it shows she cares but I am currently sitting her eating a plate of grapes, watermelon and plums having just had a bagel and some melon. I wasn't even hungry! </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >2. Breaking into Arabic when she is speaking to me. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >I can speak, just about, fluent Hebrew. It is brilliant because it means I can easily get around in Israel, talk to my uncles and cousins but most importantly, to safta. Speaking no English, there would be little to no way of speaking to her if I wasn't able to converse in Hebrew. I can't, however, speak Arabic despite safta's best efforts to teach me. She'll be asking me to do something in Hebrew and I'll be going "Yes, mm yes, no worries" and suddenly, she'll say the most important bit in Arabic and I won't have a clue what to do or say. I can only smile and nod and hope that she hasn't just asked me to do something important. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >3. Her cooking. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >I mention above that she, almost, force feeds me. I'd complain if it weren't for the fact that the food is really good. My dad can say what he wants, but <i>shifta ve oris lavan</i> or meatballs with white rice is one of my favourite dishes. The rice is simply amazing and I would happily spend the rest of my days eating it and nothing else. She also makes rather good cheese filled pastries and a delicious sort of date flatbread thing, to name a few things. Most people say their mum's cooking is the best, and my dad would say that my mum's cooking is the best but I hope my mum forgives me, because I think safta's cooking is the best. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >4. Her facial expressions. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >These are rather more difficult to explain. I'll walk past and say "Ahhhh safta" and if she hasn't got much to say (i.e. I asked that not more than 2 minutes ago) she'll give me a variety of looks. Whether she is smiling or frowning - always pleasant looks, but looks nonetheless.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >5. The fact she will <i>spud</i> me. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >The title says it all really. She doesn't hold back either, really going for the punch of my knuckles! </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >6. Our conversations. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >I dunno. I just enjoy them. And I hope she does to!</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >There is so much more to safta than the above but I really can't explain everything. She is always happy, it seems, to see me and I enjoy just spending time with her. She makes me laugh and is a deeply caring women. I was so happy to see her smiling at my Barmitzvah and can only pray (as selfish as this may be) that she makes it to at least my wedding. I perhaps don't thank her enough and a thank you on a blog that she won't be able to read, may not mean as much but nonetheless thank you. I will, for the record, go and give her a hug now! </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >I really can never say no to her. No matter what it is. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: small; ">I love you safta. </span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3446499770838764552-4127651864732576739?l=westandunited.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Raphael Cous Cous Levyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12869650008733846170noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3446499770838764552.post-89558279631824663112011-06-12T04:57:00.000-07:002011-06-22T12:52:34.371-07:002011-06-22T12:52:34.371-07:00I hate it when they do this.<span class="Apple-style-span"><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; line-height: normal; direction: ltr; unicode-bidi: embed; "><span style="color: black; " >I understand footballers have a desire to play football, if they don't they are in the wrong sport. I also understand that playing second fiddle to a player or sitting on the bench is not easy. Finally, I understand the desire to play for a top club.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; line-height: normal; direction: ltr; unicode-bidi: embed; "><span style="color: black; " >While I understand all these things, I cannot understand players threatening to quit clubs/ or claiming to be ready to move if he doesn't get more time, nor can I condone it. That is exactly what both Gibson and the KuzcsczcwecdaczaxzZxsxczc or however you spell his name, have done though. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; line-height: normal; direction: ltr; unicode-bidi: embed; "><span style="color: black; " >Ferguson doesn't not play them because it is fun for him, he doesn't play them because he doesn't think they are as good as the other players we have. When you have one of the best keepers in the world and midfielders like Giggs, Scholes and Fletcher, you cannot expect to be playing every game. So when you turn around and threaten to leave the club if you don't get more playing time, be ready to buy a new bike and leave. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; line-height: normal; direction: ltr; unicode-bidi: embed; "><span style="color: black; " >The best players prove they deserve to play more games when they are given the chance that a top manager like Ferguson gives them. There is a pun about Gibson and "Giving the Ball away", possibly related to rent-boys but I'll leave that to you to think about. Needless to say he gives it away far too often, his shot is incredibly average despite being the best thing about him. Kuszczak has no right to think he should ever play for Manchester United every again after that display against Blackburn. Nervy and frankly rubbish, he should be sold to a North London club where they seem to like shit goalkeepers. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; line-height: normal; direction: ltr; unicode-bidi: embed; "><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span style="color: black; ">Let's ignore the fact neither of them are very good and consider how disrespectful what they have done is. What right to they have to say they should be playing more, what right do they have to threaten the club in the way they have? None. Absolutely none. When you are unhappy with playing time, you go and see the manager in private, explain you think you should be playing more and if the manager doesn't agree, ask that you be allowed to leave so you can develop your career, if you think it is that bad. Players want to play, I understand that but what y</span><span style="color: black; ">ou do not do is come out shouting and crying about it. Gary Neville wasn't playing very often in the most recent season and although he has the burning desire to play football and help Manchester United win, he didn't cry about it. He went to see Ferguson and told him that he thought it was time to retire. He dealt with the situation as it should have been and for that remains the legend that he is. If he had gone to the press and said "Play me or I retire," every United fan would have told him to shut up - we knew, as he did, that despite the great service his time and been. </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; line-height: normal; direction: ltr; unicode-bidi: embed; "><span style="color: black; " >I hope Ferguson sells them. Not just because they are bad players, but because they clearly lack the respect for the club, the professionals above them (is Gibson seriously saying that he should play ahead of Fletcher, Giggs, Park, Anderson or Carrick?) and above all, the greatest manager of all time in Sir Alex Ferguson. Also, Gibson can't spell DarrEn correctly. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: Georgia, serif; color: black; "><o:p></o:p></span></p></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3446499770838764552-8955827963182466311?l=westandunited.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Raphael Cous Cous Levyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12869650008733846170noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3446499770838764552.post-18872694168863805892011-06-12T03:11:00.000-07:002011-06-12T04:16:54.345-07:002011-06-12T04:16:54.345-07:00Philosophy at an Israeli Market<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; line-height: normal; direction: ltr; unicode-bidi: embed; font-family: verdana; font-size: small; "><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:"Verdana","sans-serif";mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black">The title is, quite clearly in my opinion, what would appear to be an oxy-moron. And indeed, there was only one case of philosophy at said Israel Market or "Shuk A Carmel" in Hebrew. We'll get to that later on. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; line-height: normal; direction: ltr; unicode-bidi: embed; font-family: verdana; font-size: small; "><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:"Verdana","sans-serif";mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black">Israeli markets are wonderful places. Full of "stuff", colours, people, dirt and noise. My favourite thing about Israeli Markets are the sellers. They are so upbeat and often very funny. Brilliant smchoozers as well, but above all, they are bloody good sellers, easily capable of selling ice to eskimos.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; "> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; line-height: normal; direction: ltr; unicode-bidi: embed; font-family: verdana; font-size: small; "><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:"Verdana","sans-serif";mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black">Usually a trip to the market is with the aim of getting out of the house, buying underpants and laughing at the lost English People wearing sandals with socks and far too much sun cream. This time, however, there was a more distinct reason - I am kind person to the extent that I like buying people presents, but I do look for a saving or a bargain and Israeli markets are exactly the place for buying presents. Nowhere else can you go from buying a living chicken to buying a football kit with such ease. And all for 25 Shekels. Or 0.5 pence.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; line-height: normal; direction: ltr; unicode-bidi: embed; font-family: verdana; font-size: small; "><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:"Verdana","sans-serif";mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black">There are some rules at Israeli Markets. Some are ok, and some seem to have been invented by rude, impatient Israeli's. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; line-height: normal; direction: ltr; unicode-bidi: embed; font-family: verdana; font-size: small; "><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:"Verdana","sans-serif";mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black">Rule number 1: You are not allowed to turn around. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; line-height: normal; direction: ltr; unicode-bidi: embed; font-family: verdana; font-size: small; "><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:"Verdana","sans-serif";mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black">You must keep walking from one end of the market, to the other. Turning around is, or so one rather fat lady made it seem, a crime because I may get in her way. Stupid, I know. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; line-height: normal; direction: ltr; unicode-bidi: embed; font-family: verdana; font-size: small; "><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:"Verdana","sans-serif";mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black">Rule Number 2. No standing still. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; line-height: normal; direction: ltr; unicode-bidi: embed; font-family: verdana; font-size: small; "><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:"Verdana","sans-serif";mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black">It is quite clear in the Torah - Thou shalt keepth moving at all times. G_D forbid you should stand still for one second and prevent the traffic flow! A simple "excuse me" would suffice, but then Israeli pedestrians walk like Israeli Drivers drive - without a care in the world, ready to shout at anyone in the way and essentially acting if the ground upon which you are standing belongs to them. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; line-height: normal; direction: ltr; unicode-bidi: embed; font-family: verdana; font-size: small; "><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:"Verdana","sans-serif";mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black">Rule Number 3: Never buy from the first place you come across.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; line-height: normal; direction: ltr; unicode-bidi: embed; font-family: verdana; font-size: small; "><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:"Verdana","sans-serif";mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black">Not only do the laws of nature dictate s/he will be the most expensive but the guy who is selling next door will always overhear you and drop his prices by 2/3 shekels. Let's remember that 2/3 shekels is about 30 pence and thus makes no difference. It is just funny how everyone next door to someone you bought from becomes your best friend claiming they had some special deal for you. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; line-height: normal; direction: ltr; unicode-bidi: embed; font-family: verdana; font-size: small; "><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:"Verdana","sans-serif";mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black">Rule Number 4: Negotiate hard and low. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; line-height: normal; direction: ltr; unicode-bidi: embed; font-family: verdana; font-size: small; "><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:"Verdana","sans-serif";mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black">I prefer the "just keep saying a much lower price and pretending to leave" technique. If something is 30 shekels, you and the guy both know s/he will take 20 shekels, so you say 10 over and over again until he gives up and sells it for 20. Genius. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; line-height: normal; direction: ltr; unicode-bidi: embed; font-family: verdana; font-size: small; "><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:"Verdana","sans-serif";mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black">Rule Number 5: Put up with the sellers' bullshit. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; line-height: normal; direction: ltr; unicode-bidi: embed; font-family: verdana; font-size: small; "><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:"Verdana","sans-serif";mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black">They'll try, for example, to convince you that the <i>Italian</i> brand jeans are from Italy, even though they were made by small Palestinian children living in Gaza. Just smile and nod. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; line-height: normal; direction: ltr; unicode-bidi: embed; font-family: verdana; font-size: small; "><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:"Verdana","sans-serif";mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black">Of course, sod's law also applies - they didn't for example, have the T-shirts I wanted for 3 out of 4 people. At least I got the <i>Israeli Trousers</i> that were requested of me. They speak fluent Hebrew I think - why else would they be called Israeli? Simples. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; line-height: normal; direction: ltr; unicode-bidi: embed; font-family: verdana; font-size: small; "><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:"Verdana","sans-serif";mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black">Anyway, I wanted to share two stories with you:</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; line-height: normal; direction: ltr; unicode-bidi: embed; font-family: verdana; font-size: small; "><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:"Verdana","sans-serif";mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black">Firstly, this philosophy thing. I was buying the Israeli trousers and my uncle tried to reduce the price, claiming that next door sold them for a quarter of the price (they were more expensive next door). The lady's response was: "This material is the best - look it is Rica (I have no idea what Rica is)" We managed to get 10 shekels off, and my uncle said ok ok, you must know more than me. She replied, "I try to know more. Really, no one in the world knows anything. They just claim to," It is clear that this women is wasted in an Israeli Market, she should be teaching Philosophy at Habs or something. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; line-height: normal; direction: ltr; unicode-bidi: embed; font-family: verdana; font-size: small; "><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:"Verdana","sans-serif";mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black">Secondly, the taxi ride home. We signaled for a taxi, but the driver seemed to just ignore us, stopping slightly ahead by a group of scantily dressed women. He eventually reversed and my uncle asked why he went on a bit. He said, "I wanted to have a look at the women. They are very beautiful and weren't wearing very much. If you can't stare at women in the morning when you are working, when can you? When you get home to your wife?" Honesty in abundance, the man was about 50 years old. Not ashamed at all, and why should he be. Is there anything really wrong with wanting to see beautiful women? (Meh, so it is a bit immoral.) He then told us how a man yesterday paid him for a taxi ride with 200 Shekels and neither realised this. It resulted in the passenger receiving change from 100, thus losing 100 shekels. When the taxi driver realised, he put the extra 100 in an envelope and asked us if we minded stopping at the man's house (he dropped him off there yesterday) so he could return the 100.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; line-height: normal; direction: ltr; unicode-bidi: embed; font-family: verdana; font-size: small; "><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:"Verdana","sans-serif";mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black"> He said, "If you give, G_D will give you back 10 times as much." Complete TaxiLAD.</span><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Georgia","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; color:black"><o:p></o:p></span></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3446499770838764552-1887269416886380589?l=westandunited.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Raphael Cous Cous Levyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12869650008733846170noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3446499770838764552.post-63524522243660676272011-06-10T17:31:00.000-07:002011-06-10T18:16:54.569-07:002011-06-10T18:16:54.569-07:00Can you guess...?<span class="Apple-style-span" >It is, again, early in the morning and I have spent the last couple of hours watching How I met your Mother. Don't worry, this isn't another post about how I am essentially Ted! Being awake and having nothing to do, I started reading my <a href="http://westandunited.blogspot.com/2011/06/perhaps-i-should-clarify-my-shit-week.html">shit week</a> post again for reasons now explained at the end of the aforementioned post. I then started thinking about some of the people I've been speaking to since then, about the events and maybe my blog in general. Having come up with a few people, I thought I'd write a blog about them but with a twist. The twist being, I wouldn't say which paragraph is about who and although I will tag them in my posting of the blog on Facebook, they will have to guess which paragraph is about them. *Disclaimer* I've left out things that would make it too obvious. So don't be offended if you think you make me laugh but I don't mention it (for example). You probably do make me laugh! *Disclaimer* So in no particular order:</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >1. I think you're a better friend to me than I am to you. (Thank you!) They say opposites attract and I think that couldn't be truer in this case - I don't think I am much like you and I think that is why we get on so well. We probably bitch about people a little too much, but hey! I get the feeling we rely on each other quite a bit (or rather I rely on you quite a bit), but I wouldn't change that. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >2. We've been speaking more often recently and I'm glad we are. You make me laugh and there are moments when I am genuinely in awe of you/ the things you know. I hope you don't change, even though it seems things may try and make you change. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >3. You're probably the person on this list that I have the most in common with. Our conversations are often varied but usually end up at the same topic. We may not see eye to eye about it, but it is brilliant fun. You're good banter and I really like that you don't get offended and are (I hope I haven't got this wrong), like me, always up for a bit of self-deprecation. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >4. You may have thought 3 was about you. And in truth, it probably could have been. In fact, are you sure you aren't the same person as 3?! Don't take that the wrong way, it is just we seem to talk about the same things and it leads the same way. Your probably cruder than number 3 (in an entertainingly hilarious way) but I love you for it. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >5. What can I say? Our chats are incredibly varied and often delve deep into unsolved mysteries. You've often brought a smile to my face recently, or at least tried and have been there when it mattered. Thanks!</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >6. We seem to have quite a lot in common. Even if I do get on your nerves sometimes, I think you know I don't mean it and we have some interesting discussions about things. I think you get how important being funny is to me and let me make even my worst jokes. You also make me laugh and although I've not spent <i>that</i> much time with you, whenever I have, it is has always been good fun. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >I hope you guys can guess. Just to end, could I say thank you. You may not have realised it but, in some way, talking to you has made me smile, cheered me up etc. If you are reading this and haven't been tagged don't be offended! Those 6 isn't everyone who has spoken to me a lot recently. Those not mentioned here won't have been solely because anything I wrote would have made it obvious it was you. You've helped me just as much, I am sure. :)</span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3446499770838764552-6352452224366067627?l=westandunited.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Raphael Cous Cous Levyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12869650008733846170noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3446499770838764552.post-12645882210121788022011-06-10T11:51:00.000-07:002011-06-10T16:40:17.804-07:002011-06-10T16:40:17.804-07:00So...that one is settled<span class="Apple-style-span">Fergie doesn't, it seems, read my blog. Can't say I am not surprised but I suppose life goes on. </span><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Having spent a good half an hour writing why I think 20 million is excessive for <a href="http://westandunited.blogspot.com/2011/06/ashley-young.html">Young</a>, it seems we have gone and signed him. I do think he is a good player, just not a great player and I really think we need to be signing great (or at least proven) players to improve the team, not the squad. If we had unlimited funds, like City, I would agree with the signing, but if that 20 million (as it may) means we can't buy Modric or Sneijder/ a proven player, then I think it is 20 million poorely spent. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">I said at the end of the previous Young Blog, that I leave it up to him to prove me wrong and I hope he does because he is a good player and also, it seems, a <i>nice guy</i> - someone with respect for the clubs he plays for. He has left Villa, not for money, but to win trophies. I think that is fair, with all due respect to Aston Villa. Fingers crossed he tears Barcelona apart next season!</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">I'd just like to quickly mention something on Roberto Martinez who has said he'd stay at Wigan. I have the utmost respect for Martinez as a manager for varying reasons, and this event has only improved my estimation of him. Loyalty, it seems, is a dying art but it is nice to know there still are some good guys around when people start sleeping with their brother's wife. </span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3446499770838764552-1264588221012178802?l=westandunited.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Raphael Cous Cous Levyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12869650008733846170noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3446499770838764552.post-85222826983343517272011-06-09T18:23:00.000-07:002011-06-09T18:59:27.858-07:002011-06-09T18:59:27.858-07:00What am I even doing<span class="Apple-style-span" >I don't have a clue. I'm awake at 4.30 in the morning having spent the past 4 and a half hours watching the first few episodes of series one of 'How I met your Mother'. I was told, recently, that my blog was "refreshingly honest" and indeed, everything I post is true and has happened to me (we are ignoring the United posts here). So when I sit here at 4.30 and tell you that I'm unhappy and feel horribly like Ted from 'How I met your Mother', you can safely assume that I am indeed unhappy and feel like Ted from 'How I met your Mother'. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: small; ">I used to/still do think I am somewhat like Chandler from friends. Being funny is subjective, so I will leave that for other people to judge but I do make jokes when I feel awkward and I am horribly sarcastic. I'm not the ladies' man that Joey is and I do have a horrible habit of making fun of my friends. But I haven't got any friends to watch, so Ted will have to do. </span><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >You'd really have to watch 'How I met your Mother' to understand the comparison, and indeed you would have to know me quite well, but that isn't the point. The point is that at 4.35 in the morning I am typing a blog post that about 4 people read, and as much as my parents tell me I am good at writing, I can't see this actually going anywhere. Yes, I enjoy it, but I fear I have become slightly addicted to it! Back to Ted. Suffice to say that the impression you get from the first few episodes of series one is that he is a really nice guy but things just don't quite go his way. I'm not saying I am a really nice guy, although I would like to think that I am not a horrible guy, but I can certainly say that <a href="http://westandunited.blogspot.com/2011/06/perhaps-i-should-clarify-my-shit-week.html">things haven't gone my way recently</a>. And there are other things not even mentioned in the linked post. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >For example, there is this girl (there is always a girl) called Robyn who Ted thinks may be the one. A sequence of events leads him to ask her to be his date to a wedding only to have the bride tell him he didn't select 'plus 1'. Having sorted that out, on the night of the Wedding, Robyn gets a call from work and has to fill in - hence missing the wedding. Just doesn't, quite, go his way. Indeed, I think things haven't quite gone my way either. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >I'm the sort of guy who finds little <span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:115%; font-family:"Verdana","sans-serif";mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black;mso-ansi-language:EN-US; mso-fareast-language:EN-US;mso-bidi-language:HE">coincidences</span> and convinces myself it is fate. For example, if I cast your minds back to the girl I asked out last Friday (is today Friday? I hate this day), you don't know her name. Well you do, because I know who is reading my blog. But let's imagine for a minute you didn't because for the purposes of this next bit, you don't have to know her name. What should the girl that Ted rings up after 3 years of not talking to her be called? You guessed, Ted's girl has the same name as the girl I asked out. Life has a funny way of reminding you of things you tried to forget, things you pushed to the back of your mind hoping you wouldn't have to deal with again.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >You'll probably tell me to go outside and get some air - to stop being ridiculous. Anyone can find stupid links with these programs and really I am doing nothing but trying to relate in some way to Ted. And that is all true, and indeed I would go outside and get some air if it wasn't nearly 5 in the morning. Until light breaks through the evil of darkness, I shall stay here, rereading the blog about my shit week. Because that is how I roll.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >So yeah, I am still unhappy. Yes, I wish we won the Champions League Final. Yes, last week could have ended better and I currently find myself awake at 4.50 in the morning writing a blog that barely anyone reads. I've been in better places. The worst thing? I know there are people worse off, and I I really should <i>man the fuck up. </i>Sometimes it takes a real man to cry. Not going to lie, my keyboard is slightly damp. </span></div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3446499770838764552-8522282698334351727?l=westandunited.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Raphael Cous Cous Levyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12869650008733846170noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3446499770838764552.post-81969211233476268682011-06-09T12:09:00.000-07:002011-06-10T19:31:29.465-07:002011-06-10T19:31:29.465-07:00Getting one over on Arsene<span class="Apple-style-span">...Because it is fun. </span><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">I've said before that I do not enjoy speculating, it only serves to bring you down if/when <i>it</i> doesn't happen but I've seen a lot of "stuff" about Nasri on twitter and not a lot of it positive. And I find that amazing.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Nasri, no matter who he has played/is playing for, is a class player. There is no doubting his ability with a football, and most importantly (as anyone who has read my blog about Young will know) he has bags of experience - he played (well) against Barcelona, for example, just last season. Our midfield is seriously lacking some flair (and dare I say it, talent) with the loss of Scholes and Hargreaves while Carrick has flashes of quality but no more and we could really do with what Nasri has to offer. He can pick a pass, dribble and is a big game player (I seem to remember him scoring to good goals against us a couple of seasons ago). </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">I, frankly, do not care that he is an Arsenal player. I don't even know why that should come into it. I would understand if he, like Evra does to Arsenal, constantly rubbished us why people may be in two minds about his commitment to the club, but he doesn't. The most worrying thing he has said is "Second place would not be a disaster", for</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: small; "> Arsenal last season, going on to say that winning isn't everything. But then, that is the kind of negative attitude that playing for a team that wins nothing year on year instills in you. One season of winning trophies, will knock that right out. As long as he is committed to the club, I can see no issues - the reason he is available is because he wants to win trophies, something that Arsenal (unlike United) cannot promise him. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: small; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: small; ">It would, also, be hilarious to see Arsene's face if we signed one of his best players!</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: small; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Having said all of that, I still wouldn't sign him. I think he is the player that <a href="http://www.united-latest.com/1/post/2011/06/is-wes-the-best-for-the-devils.html?utm_medium=twitter&utm_source=twitterfeed">this blog</a> by United Latest (twitter account) is actually referring to. Sneijder, I think, can play in central midfield as part of a 4-4-2. Nasri, however, cannot (in my opinion). Years of being at Arsenal mean he doesn't know what defending actually is, unlike Sneijder who has a couple of seasons under Mourinho, and thus can't be played in a position where tracking back is important. That would mean playing him behind the striker. There is no discussion over whether or not that is his best position, nor over if he is any good in it but what there is discussion over is, as United Latest says, what that means for Wayne (who is the better player) and seems to have shifted to that role, with Hernandez in front of him, superbly. And therein lies the problem - Samir does not have the professionalism to sit on the bench week in week out, even if he is winning trophies. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">We could, I suppose, sign him as a replacement for Giggs and play him on the left. I don't, however, think that is his best position but it is certainly an idea because there is no doubt, as I have said, that he is a good player and one that would add to our team both domistically and on the European stage. I would prefer him over <a href="http://westandunited.blogspot.com/2011/06/ashley-young.html">Young</a>, another win option. But, if we are talking of who I'd prefer, then lets discuss Sanchez - a born winger with bags of skill and good experience as well. With a new goalkeeper, Modric/Sneijder to play next to Fletcher/ a new midfield grafter and wingers to select from Nani, Valencia, Sanchez AND Young/Nasri (Lets go mad, eh?!) and Hernandez and Rooney upfront, I think we would have a pretty good team.</span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3446499770838764552-8196921123347626868?l=westandunited.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Raphael Cous Cous Levyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12869650008733846170noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3446499770838764552.post-51527222706279358382011-06-09T10:28:00.000-07:002011-06-09T11:07:56.146-07:002011-06-09T11:07:56.146-07:00Innocence is Dead<span class="Apple-style-span">My cousin has 4 children. A girl who is 16, and boys aged 15, 11 and 6. This post is not attempted to insult them in anyway, they are great fun to be around but rather to look into an interesting brand of English that the 11 and 6 year old speak. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: small; ">Both the older children have been learning English at school for some time and although they do make mistakes which I take great pride in being a dick about and correcting, it is rather good. The younger two, however, speak a limited, yet hilarious, amount of English and it is about that I intend to write about today. </span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: small; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: small; ">Although I have been feeling much better since <a href="http://westandunited.blogspot.com/2011/06/perhaps-i-should-clarify-my-shit-week.html">my shit week</a> (no, I am not fishing for sympathy!), I saw something on facebook just now that brought me down a bit and I decided to post an update - I've been going over this in a my mind, and decided that now is as good a time as any to type it up. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: small; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">If I am honest, a lot of what I am about to write isn't that new but an event today really seemed to drive a point home. I was walking to the cinema with "the 11 year old" to buy some tickets for Kung Fu Panda 2 (a good film, even in Hebrew!) for a showing later on when he asked me if I had seen "Pirates of the Caribbean 4". I had seen it and told him how I went with a girl (I drop in the fact I know girls as much as possible because he is convinced that I am gay. Apparently, and I quote, "I've not had a girlfriend, nor seen a girl naked so must be gay" He is 11, I promise.) who isn't my girlfriend, but just a friend. This concept, of being <i>just friends</i> is lost on my cousin's 11 year old, who seems to have a rather naive idea about relationships. Anyway, I ask him what the word, in Hebrew, is for a friend who is a girl but not your girlfriend. (Hebrew has genders like French, and the <span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:115%; font-family:"Verdana","sans-serif";mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black;mso-ansi-language:EN-US; mso-fareast-language:EN-US;mso-bidi-language:HE">equivalent</span> of 'amie' in Hebrew means she is your girlfriend) He answers by saying, in twisted English, "You means girl that you no have UHHUHHH UHHH UHHHH UHH with?", while making pelvic thusts. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">This 11 year old was asking me whether or not I meant a girl I am not having sex with when I said she wasn't my girlfriend. He can barely speak another word of English, other than asking me "What I want", but when it comes to girls and sex, he seems to be perfectly fine. I don't know if I am just being overprotective of an incredibly skinny kid whom I see as a baby brother or someone that I should be looking after and protecting from such language! I didn't quite know what to say, I was quite shocked to be honest! I resorted to just laughing and saying that you are allowed to just be friends with a girl. He called me gay. Or rather, he asked me if I was gay and when I said no, said you must be. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Let us not forget that the first thing you seem interested in learning when using a foreign language are the swear words - I can swear in French, Spanish, Arabic, German and Chinese but I couldn't hold down a conversation in the latter 3, barely in Spanish and just about in French if I tried really really hard. It is the same for my cousin's children. There is not a funnier sight than a 6 year old going around saying "fuck" at the top of his voice and you not knowing which way to look. But this seems natural for him, there is nothing wrong with saying "fuck" because he really doesn't know it is a swear word, it is just a word he hears when his dad drops something on the floor or cuts himself. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">I don't think I had ever heard a swear word until someone called me a wanker when I was in year 7. I didn't know what it meant and asking my dad didn't yield a response, but laughter. Here are people that can't even speak English properly, swearing like there is no tomorrow and asking me about having sex with girls in English. Yes, some of it is immaturity but it is still something that leads me to believe that true innocence is dead. </span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3446499770838764552-5152722270627935838?l=westandunited.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Raphael Cous Cous Levyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12869650008733846170noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3446499770838764552.post-39540200596446056162011-06-09T09:38:00.000-07:002011-06-09T09:52:38.375-07:002011-06-09T09:52:38.375-07:00Going, going....<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; line-height: normal; direction: ltr; unicode-bidi: embed; font-family: verdana; font-size: small; "><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:"Verdana","sans-serif";mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black">Gone? Sunderland have, apparently, made a triple bid for Brown, O'Shea and Gibson rumoured to be worth 12 million pounds. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; line-height: normal; direction: ltr; unicode-bidi: embed; font-family: verdana; font-size: small; "><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:"Verdana","sans-serif";mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black">This will be a rather short post, stating why each player should be sold:</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; line-height: normal; direction: ltr; unicode-bidi: embed; font-family: verdana; font-size: small; "><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:"Verdana","sans-serif";mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black">Gibson - He is rubbish. His main <i>thing</i> is his shooting which is average. He gives the ball away the entire time and really is average at best. I can't believe he is worth more than 2 million.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px; "> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; line-height: normal; direction: ltr; unicode-bidi: embed; font-family: verdana; font-size: small; "><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:"Verdana","sans-serif";mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black">Brown - Past it. Has given us great service but I think we have better defenders and it wouldn't be fair to him to keep him because I think he wouldn't even make the bench and he isn't a bad player. Maybe 4/5 million</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; line-height: normal; direction: ltr; unicode-bidi: embed; font-family: verdana; font-size: small; "><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:"Verdana","sans-serif";mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black">O'Shea - probably the one player I wouldn't mind keeping. He is solid, nothing special but rarely makes a mistake and will do the job in 4 positions. Same as Brown really. Maybe 4/5 million?</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; line-height: normal; direction: ltr; unicode-bidi: embed; font-family: verdana; font-size: small; "><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:"Verdana","sans-serif";mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black">I think it is time to thank the latter two for their service and let them go, while Gibson is simply the worst player I have ever seen pull on a United shirt, although Djemba-Djemba runs him close. Replacing them will, however, be necessary because a big squad is important - Tunnicliffe can move up for Gibson. Only seen him play a few times, but he looks so much better (not that that is saying much!) We've all but signed Phil Jones, and Evans seemed to slot in as extra wing-back cover towards the end of the season very well. Ideally another young defender who can play center and wing-back would be brought in, but it is not essential. </span><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family: "Georgia","serif";mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";color:black"><o:p></o:p></span></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3446499770838764552-3954020059644605616?l=westandunited.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Raphael Cous Cous Levyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12869650008733846170noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3446499770838764552.post-8444241511032419042011-06-07T11:33:00.000-07:002011-06-10T16:38:19.362-07:002011-06-10T16:38:19.362-07:00Conversations.<div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; direction: ltr; unicode-bidi: embed; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;mso-margin-bottom-alt:auto; text-align:left;line-height:normal;direction:ltr;unicode-bidi:embed"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; color: black; ">Having just had dinner with family, I have just had to endure what any dinner is always followed by - coffee and "Small Talk". Even the mere mention of small talk will send some people into hysterics, fearful of the very idea of it. I personally revel in a good bit of small talk, and as anyone who knows me will know, I thoroughly enjoy talking and making conversation. If a bit too much!</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; color: black; "><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><span class="Apple-style-span"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom: .0001pt;text-align:left;line-height:normal;direction:ltr;unicode-bidi:embed"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; color: black; ">Conversation can go two ways after a dinner and it very much depends who you are with, especially at my age.</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; color: black; "><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom: .0001pt;text-align:left;line-height:normal;direction:ltr;unicode-bidi:embed"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; color: black; ">I'll first discuss the much more preferable sort. This stems from the much more preferable company, for someone of my age, and those are the conversations after having dinner with friends waiting for the bill or as you walk to the station etc etc. Generally very civil, they may include the occasional bitch or be sport related. If I am involved they will always involve cutting sarcasm, apologies for going to far and often (fake) laughter. There is nothing I dislike with these conversations as long as they don't fall into an awkward silence and they are generally quite enjoyable - in fact I often find if a conversation hasn't been as flowing as you would like it is often because of the company. Not they are bad conversation makers, but rather you may not be the closest of friends for example.</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; color: black; "><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom: .0001pt;text-align:left;line-height:normal;direction:ltr;unicode-bidi:embed"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; color: black; ">And then there are <i>those</i> ones.</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; color: black; "><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom: .0001pt;text-align:left;line-height:normal;direction:ltr;unicode-bidi:embed"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; color: black; ">You know the ones. The ones that you only ever have with your parents and other members of your family (generally people you know that are older). The ones that have awkward silences before the next question comes. Most importantly, the ones where you are being interrogated by people that are meant to love you but still seem to enjoy watching you squirm. Those conversations that are about: girls I know (and thus must be married to); the last film I saw (and then inevitably back to girls because I happened to see my last film with a girl); what I did last weekend (and then back to girls because....); what I like doing (and then ba....) and the like. Yes I did stress my recent activities (not like that you dirty person) with girls a lot in the sentence, sue me! (Oh, and I apologise for the terrible jokes in there!)</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; color: black; "><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom: .0001pt;text-align:left;line-height:normal;direction:ltr;unicode-bidi:embed"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; color: black; ">I hate <i>those conversations</i>. Mainly because my dad has the maturity levels of a 3 year old and my mum will tell anyone and everyone that a girl that is a friend of mine, is my <i>girlfriend</i>, blissfully unaware of the connotations. Essentially my mum will go "Your girlfriend seems nice," to which I will reply "Girlfriend?" at which point my dad will go "OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO GIRL!" while running around the house. G_D forbid I try and ignore it or tell them to grow up - that only gets them going more. Oh no, my best bet is to play along - I actually currently have 3 girlfriends, as far as my mum is concerned, and I have had to justify why the other 2 don't mind when I see one of them. My dad and I going "OOOOOOOO GIRL!" around the house is a sight that will (my sister has promised) eventually end up on youtube. I know they are both joking, and my mum (just to clarify) does not actually think I have 3 girlfriends but the fact this is even joked about says a lot about the strange twisted world my family inhabits.</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; color: black; "><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom: .0001pt;text-align:left;line-height:normal;direction:ltr;unicode-bidi:embed"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; color: black; ">What makes these conversations worse is the fact that I think my parents know that I "don't get out much", or at least not as much as some people do. They are, therefore, chillingly happy when I tell them that I am going to do this with so and so or so and so invited me to a party. The surprised looks when I say I am just off out while wearing a brightly coloured shirt are rather damning, almost as bad as the "I am happy you are seeing friends," comments I'll get from my dad. My mum even bought me a shirt which is basically covered in women so that I could say "I have a thousand women on me" whenever I wear it.</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; color: black; "><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom: .0001pt;text-align:left;line-height:normal;direction:ltr;unicode-bidi:embed"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; color: black; ">The moral of the story? Have dinner using your parents' money but without your parents!</span><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman","serif";mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";color:black"><o:p></o:p></span></p></span><p></p></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3446499770838764552-844424151103241904?l=westandunited.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Raphael Cous Cous Levyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12869650008733846170noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3446499770838764552.post-53802891382950917272011-06-07T08:06:00.000-07:002011-06-08T07:14:16.537-07:002011-06-08T07:14:16.537-07:00Ashley Young<p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt; text-align:left;line-height:normal;direction:ltr;unicode-bidi:embed"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Georgia","serif";mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black">The rumors are that he has signed or is about to. When rumors change from <i>interest</i> to the player has signed, then they usually are more reliable. While I do not like speculating over nothing, I think it is safe to say that Ferguson is at least trying to sign Young, even if he hasn't succeeded (yet). For the purpose of this article I am going to assume we have signed Young, else what I am saying really has no relevance at all. If it turns out that we don't sign him, I think we can safely say that Fergie reads my blog (the reason for that assumption will become clear!)</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt; text-align:left;line-height:normal;direction:ltr;unicode-bidi:embed"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Georgia","serif";mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black">That, therefore, allows me to post my first blog on United for a while. I've decided that this is not going to be a blog dedicated to Manchester United, but rather a blog on anything that has happened to me and Manchester United <i>happens</i> to me a lot! I hope everything I write is as engaging, whether it be more random or about United. Just as a note, I think I will avoid writing match reports, because I can't imagine I'll say anything new, but I'll try and write more interesting pieces about the club, the opinion may have stemmed from a recent performance(s).</span> </p> <p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt; text-align:left;line-height:normal;direction:ltr;unicode-bidi:embed"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Georgia","serif";mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black">Anyway, back to Ashley. Let's clear one thing straight away - there is no doubting his talent and ability. He is most certainly a good player. Do I think he is a good signing?</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt; text-align:left;line-height:normal;direction:ltr;unicode-bidi:embed"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Georgia","serif";mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black">No. I am afraid I do not. I've already said I think he is a good player, and I stand by that. My issue with Young is not his ability - I think he would improve our squad (note squad) for the Premier League, but then I don't think our squad needs to be improved for the Premier League and especially not for 20 million pounds. We've already got Nani and Valencia, and yes cover is nice, but I think there is better (and cheaper) cover out there. I think we should be looking at no more than 10 million for players that (like Young in my opinion) will be making their main impact on the domestic stage. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt; text-align:left;line-height:normal;direction:ltr;unicode-bidi:embed"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Georgia","serif";mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black">For 20 million pounds, even in a market inflated by the spending arrogance of City, we should be looking to sign a player with Champions League pedigree and experience. Young has neither. You may quote Hernandez at me, but firstly he cost 6 million pounds - there was no expectation on him to perform in the Champions League which for 20 million is not going to be the same (or at least not from me) for Young. Secondly, Hernandez played well at the recent world cup, which included (if I remember correctly) a super goal against Argentina. Not only that, but he played against the top players on a top stage - something Young has not done. So, if you think about it, there was no need for Hernandez to do well but also, Hernandez had already had a similar experience. The same cannot be said for Young. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt; text-align:left;line-height:normal;direction:ltr;unicode-bidi:embed"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Georgia","serif";mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black">If he was cheaper, I would snap him up straight away - he would certainly add to our team and could make the difference against Blackburn and Stoke (mid-level teams with all due respect) and maybe even against Chelsea and Arsenal on his good days. But then, we beat Chelsea 3 times last season and should have beaten them in the League away while we beat Arsenal at home twice and it isn't like we got smashed away. Who did we not beat last season that cost us? </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt; text-align:left;line-height:normal;direction:ltr;unicode-bidi:embed"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Georgia","serif";mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black">Barcelona. I do not think that Ashley would make a major difference against Barcelona (with all due respect to him). Whenever we make an expensive signing that is the bar we have to look at - will they help us win the Champions League (in other words, as hard as it is to admit, beat Barcelona)? Ignore the Premier League for now - any player coming to United should be assessed in terms of the Premier League potential, but when you are spending 20 million pounds, you need to see if he will make an impact on the biggest stages and this, unfortunately, is not something I think Young is capable of.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" dir="LTR" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt; text-align:left;line-height:normal;direction:ltr;unicode-bidi:embed"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Georgia","serif";mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black">A good player, there is not a doubt about it. A Champions League player? I leave it to him to prove me wrong. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" dir="RTL"><span dir="LTR"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3446499770838764552-5380289138295091727?l=westandunited.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Raphael Cous Cous Levyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12869650008733846170noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3446499770838764552.post-21270777899606935512011-06-07T05:52:00.000-07:002011-06-07T06:29:37.558-07:002011-06-07T06:29:37.558-07:00I hate Elal<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; line-height: normal; direction: ltr; unicode-bidi: embed; "><span class="Apple-style-span" ></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom: .0001pt;text-align:left;line-height:normal;direction:ltr;unicode-bidi:embed"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:"Verdana","sans-serif";mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black">I managed to write 2 entries yesterday about my airport visit and subsequent flight to Tel Aviv with Elal. Seeing as they are both quite long, and indeed some similar things come up in both, I decided to combine the two here into one blog post. Essentially by the end I hope to have proven why Elal is a shocking airline, justified my dislike of Hasidic Jews and shown how trips to the airport do not pass without incident. </span><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";color:black"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><span class="Apple-style-span" > <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom: .0001pt;text-align:left;line-height:normal;direction:ltr;unicode-bidi:embed"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:"Verdana","sans-serif";mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black">I do genuinely believe that airports are interesting places and it is always worth paying attention to what is around you. </span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;font-family:"Verdana","sans-serif";mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom: .0001pt;text-align:left;line-height:normal;direction:ltr;unicode-bidi:embed"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:"Verdana","sans-serif";mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black">This is even more the case when travelling with Elal, an airline whose security measures (although justified to an extent) make the USA's seem about as secure as Del Boys finances in Only Fools and Horses. I managed to convince the guy asking me those questions that I had nothing that didn't belong to me and indeed my bags had never left my sight, even when I was asleep, in the period from being packed to being checked in. I also, luckily it seemed, had forgotten to pack my tweezers, an item the gentleman stressed was forbidden - unless the hijackers were planning on plucking the pilot to death, I am not sure how tweezers would come in handy. If someone can hijack a plane using only tweezers, I say let them have it! Rest assured I made a joke about Bin Laden being dead (I couldn't resist), but the guy approved, letting out a wry smile in acknowledgement. </span><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; color:black"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom: .0001pt;text-align:left;line-height:normal;direction:ltr;unicode-bidi:embed"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:"Verdana","sans-serif";mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black">I am not sure how many bags the average family of, say, 4 takes on holiday but I am pretty sure it is not 300 - they do have kitchen sinks in Israel! However, Hasidic Jews (one of the few things they do that gets on my nerves) seem intent on taking everything and anything on holiday with them. Having held me up, the father asked me why I wasn't wearing a Kippa etc. Not being in the best of moods, and being quite offended at the implication that I cannot have as much faith or believe as strongly in G_D or even worse, not be as proud about being Jewish if I do not dress like <i>they</i> do, my reply was (perhaps unnecessarily) flippant and sarcastic. I asked him if he believed every word in the Torah, to which he replied yes, of course. An offended sarcastic is not pleasant company and I quickly reeled of a list of things forbidden in the Torah - telling him I was gay, wore cross fiber clothing, didn't keep Shabbat and idolise Manchester United and her players. The look on his face was priceless and to be quite frank his sheer arrogance deserved it. The main thing I dislike about Hasidic Jews - their view that I MUST be wrong and if I want to be Jewish/proud of being Jewish/have faith, I must dress like they do. When I told my dad, he merely replied: "Why didn't you ask them why they insist on looking as if they haven't showed for 3 months?!" I apologise here for being flippant, but I really don't care what they think. Just as they have every right to dress in the way they do, I have every right to dress as differently as possible - we are (I am sure) as proud of being Jewish. </span><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman","serif";mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";color:black"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom: .0001pt;text-align:left;line-height:normal;direction:ltr;unicode-bidi:embed"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:"Verdana","sans-serif";mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black">Having made it through security and eaten, I boarded the plane. The information computers indicated that the flight was closing, but of course no one had boarded and once we did, the plane spent an hour not moving. Classic Elal. Classic.</span><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom: .0001pt;text-align:left;line-height:normal;direction:ltr;unicode-bidi:embed"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:"Verdana","sans-serif";mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black">There is, in my opinion, little pleasant to say about Elal or the passengers it seems to attract. </span><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom: .0001pt;text-align:left;line-height:normal;direction:ltr;unicode-bidi:embed"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:"Verdana","sans-serif";mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black">A massive advantage of looking relatively English is that no one thinks you can understand Hebrew and wither away carelessly assuming I keep looking at them when they talk about me because I am intrigued as to what this mystical language is about and what they are saying. Sitting there, silently understanding every word is bliss! It certainly doesn't help that they then talk at you as if you are 4 years old in English when they see you looking. Mid-flow, I'll say "Be careful what you say, you don't know who is listening," in fluent Hebrew and they stop, stone dead. Classic!</span><span style="font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman","serif";mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; color:black"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom: .0001pt;text-align:left;line-height:normal;direction:ltr;unicode-bidi:embed"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:"Verdana","sans-serif";mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black">Firstly, Elal seems to pride itself on having smelly aircrafts. Whether they are trying to prepare you for the heat of Israel, I don't know, but they insist on making it 50 degrees centigrade on their flights meaning everyone starts to smell a bit. It is truly horribly and uncomfortable but then many planes smell and are too hot (or too cold). The food is also horrible, particularly so, on Elal. But then, I wasn't expecting Gordon Ramsey, nor can any airline claim to have good food. Elal is also full of gimmicks that get on my nerves - the safety video is stupid and I really dislike the slogan - "We are not just an airline, We are Israel". I have no idea what that even means, and if there is indeed any symbolic meaning, it is lost on me. </span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman","serif";mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; color:black"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom: .0001pt;text-align:left;line-height:normal;direction:ltr;unicode-bidi:embed"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:"Verdana","sans-serif";mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black">The main thing about Elal, is the passengers it attracts. </span><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman","serif";mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";color:black"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom: .0001pt;text-align:left;line-height:normal;direction:ltr;unicode-bidi:embed"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:"Verdana","sans-serif";mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black">Firstly, "clappers". Elal has the highest clapper to passenger ratio of any airline, with rapturous cheering erupting when we land safely. I really want to know what they would do if we hadn't landed safely? Furthermore, if you want to travel Elal, you must have 20 pieces of hand luggage all of which do not fit in the overhead bins correctly. Having stuffed my bag 4 rows away from me, I went to collect it at the end of the flight. Everyone was pushing this way and that, and I ended up wedged between a seat and 3 of these huge bags, trapping a family in their row (unintentionally of course). Cue this women shouting at her husband in Hebrew calling me a donkey, an idiot and generally saying how stupid and rude I am. I just stood there chuckling to myself, before saying "Sorry, I didn't know they allowed donkeys to travel, you might want to go and talk to the steward", in Hebrew. I felt SO good!</span><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman","serif";mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";color:black"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom: .0001pt;text-align:left;line-height:normal;direction:ltr;unicode-bidi:embed"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:"Verdana","sans-serif";mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black">They also seem to think they can stand when they want, with the air hostess telling 5 people to sit down within 2 minutes of take-off. Finally, babies. Need I say more? There are just so many. SO MANY. Forgive me if I sound like some sort of grumpy old man, but there always seem to be more than usual on Elal flights, with their crying particularly high pitched and loud. I asked my dad if I was such a pain on flights, to which he replied no, you generally just sat there smiling. Relief!</span><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom: .0001pt;text-align:left;line-height:normal;direction:ltr;unicode-bidi:embed"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:"Verdana","sans-serif";mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black">So there you have it. I hate Elal, and now you know why!</span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman","serif";mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; color:black"><o:p></o:p></span></p></span><p></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3446499770838764552-2127077789960693551?l=westandunited.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Raphael Cous Cous Levyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12869650008733846170noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3446499770838764552.post-17743883179065891982011-06-05T03:59:00.001-07:002011-06-05T04:39:28.380-07:002011-06-05T04:39:28.380-07:00My Mum and her "things"<span class="Apple-style-span" >The title will become more relevant by the end of the article. Or at least I hope so! </span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >My mother is called Orli (and yes, that is like the airport in Paris) and was born in Tel Aviv, Israel. Her age is unknown to all, although we suspect it is somewhere north of 21. Having moved to England sometime ago she married my dad and spawned two children, even if there are doubts (mainly from myself) about the second child aka my sister. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >This article will attempt to explain the interesting world in which my mum inhabits and some of the "things" that she does or says. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >Maybe we should start with "things". Not being a native English speaker, my mum's English (although very good) does have its limitations. Most common amongst which is not being able to finish sentences without saying the word "thing". If and when she isn't sure what word should be inserted she'll just say "things" and carry on expecting the rest of us to understand. The word thing can be interchanged with any word or words - "I was going to get the bag when thing and I was shocked." The thing could refer to: I saw a spider, I saw my reflection in a mirror and noticed my hairstyle, heard the music you were playing etc. Understanding my mum can be challenge but it is one I try and put up with. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >On the topic of her speaking style, my mum has an uncanny ability to make up words or phrases. Upon reading this article she may declare that it is "out-of-rageous" with some confidence that "out-of-rageous" is indeed a word. Having established that it is not a word, she may say "don't miss me understand me", in an attempt to tell me that I shouldn't misunderstand her. Where the extra "me" comes from, no one seems to know. Maybe I shouldn't make jokes, but I do (now) say "this is out-of-rageous" around my mum and I have to admit to has a certain ring to it. Perhaps, however, I should acknowledge that it is indeed a year since last year which is something that my mum proudly proclaimed when renewing her car insurance, turning to my dad and saying "Oh wow, it is already been a year since last year" (which is when she last renewed). It is, of course, always a year since last year but it is always nice to be reminded. While there are many classics in my mum's version of English only one more shall be shared. You wonder, perhaps, what the relevance of this phrase is or how it even came about being said but I can't help you there. I'll just repeat it and we'll see: "Everyday this morning". The concept of days and mornings, it seems, is lost on my mother but nonetheless, it is a funny comment to come out with. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >Being Israeli, and very passionately so, my mum's views on the middle east issues are somewhat distorted. They can perhaps be summed up in "Israel is always right", a country whose actions she will defend to the death. A, perhaps slightly rational, hatred of all things Palestinian is something that years of living amongst the troubles and further years worrying for the well being of nieces and nephews in the Israeli army has created. Suffice to say, if you want to have a conversation about Israel, I wouldn't talk to my mum! Not only will you not get very far, you are likely to offend a women who is best not offended!</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >Which brings me on to the next bit. My mum is incredibly scary, fearless and most certainly a member of Mossad in some capacity. I'm not scared to admit it, but I am afraid of my mother for multiple reasons. Perhaps we shouldn't go into them, but I think it is justified and I most certainly wouldn't want to get on her bad side which is why you should offend her! My mum is also fearless. She seems to never get embarrassed at all. For example, she will regularly wind down the window and shout "His Name is Raphael" at anyone who even thinks about calling me Raph. Mr Daythan, to this day, will roll the 'R's on my name and claims that a fear of my mother will prevent him from calling me Raph. You'd think that isn't that bad - she called me Raphael for a reason and wants people to call me Raphael. Perhaps it isn't, but what is bad, is my mum winding down the window and telling a boy in my year who shall remain unnamed that he had a lovely smile and could become a model. He was in year 8 at the time. I don't know many people who could say that without feeling a bit embarrassed to do so. The mossad bit is hard to explain, but lets just say that my dad and I fear that she has been sent to infiltrate Britain via a family and will, at some point, receive a call saying "Mission over, exterminate the Levy's." And we are being deadly serious!</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >Having just read that, you may get the wrong idea. My mum is a truly incredible woman and is capable of truly incredible things. A remarkable cook (although I am convinced she is trying to fatten me up) and my Philosophy class will testify to her baking skills, while any of our guests will be (or should be!) quick to compliment her cooking skills in general. Possibly the most creative person I know, she does window displays which are complimented on a regular basis. Her flower arrangements are amazing and the table displays at dinner parties NEVER fail to impress. She paints with a unique talent and even does party themes for Barmitzvah's etc designing the table pieces and in general the room for the party. Her fashion sense seems infallible and she always dresses immaculately even if she tries to dress me and my dad! My mum is also incredibly positive and always finds the best in anything. She seems to know things will get better, and perhaps that is why they do get better. She is certainly someone you want around if you are a bit down or things aren't going your way. Maybe something which characterises her is her love of Manchester United. My mum doesn't know the difference between a goalkick and a corner, a freekick and a penalty, John Terry and John Travolta but she still wills Manchester United to win whenever they are playing. Not really caring about football, it is because she knows how much they mean to my dad and I and she doesn't want to see us unhappy. A louder supporter than most, she had the next door neighbours knocking on the door because they heard screaming. What had happened was Hernandez had just scored against Chelsea in the Champions League. She doesn't care about football, but cares about my dad and I and that (it seems) is all that matters. A truly incredible woman. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >How she finds the time to do what she does I will never know. She does so much and for that I can only be thankful and there is not one thing I would change about my mother. I love you mum! </span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3446499770838764552-1774388317906589198?l=westandunited.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Raphael Cous Cous Levyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12869650008733846170noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3446499770838764552.post-75859206805069588372011-06-05T02:10:00.000-07:002011-06-05T02:35:56.300-07:002011-06-05T02:35:56.300-07:00I did promise...<span class="Apple-style-span" >...One about United. So here it it. What I did not promise was an original post about United - I can't imagine that they will be much here that hasn't been said before and for that I apologise. </span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >Essentially United need to rebuild. While we have had a fantastic season and it is not a case of everyone else being bad - we've won vital games, beaten tough opponents (at home) and never have said die; improvements are needed. As are replacements. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >I look back to the '99 treble video (being 4, for some reason I didn't watch the final, but having watched the video thousands of times, I can recite the commentary from the final!) and note that United had:</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >1. A top goalkeeper who was very experienced.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >2. An incredible defence with attacking wingbacks and a solid core.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >3. A midfield that had vision, guile, pace, determination, flair, dribbling ability, crossing ability, goals and a never say die attitude (collectively)</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >4. And 4 Top strikers that would always guarantee goals.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >I say we have got number 2. We won't win on many fronts without all 4 of those. Look at the double season in '08 </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >1. Edwin was our top keeper</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >2. Our defence was insane</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >3. Scholes was pinging the passes, Carrick was playing the best he has ever played for us, Giggs was <i>still</i> there and Ronaldo. Well, Ronaldo was as well.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >4. We also had Ronaldo, Tevez and Rooney - yes only 3 strikers, but Ronaldo scored for fun and we had goals in the midfield as well. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >So I think my point is proven. I'd go back to '68, but I don't think I need to - we all <i>know </i>about that team. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >So we Edwin retiring we definitely need a new Goalkeeper. I am in no place to comment on any of those mentioned, having seen very little of most of them. De Gea seems to be a done deal, but I worry for his experience. I know he has played a lot of games, and indeed Casillas was keeping for Madrid in nappies, but Spain has a different mentality with regards to defending than England and clean sheets will be more imperative and expected in England so I am not sure if he will make the transition. A top talent though, I am sure!</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >My preferred choice is Stekelenburg because he is incredibly experienced, has played at the top world stage and played pretty well throughout the competition but also because he is Edwin replacement at Holland and Ajax and has done so well - he seems a natural replacement. He is also very tall and imposing. For me, the ideal replacement (if we are being realistic of course!)</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >We do, however, all agree that we need a goalkeeper, so I can't imagine I said something revolutionary there!</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >The defence is superb and does not need notable additions. If we see the next Vidic somewhere, buy him of course but we do not need to sign any proven players here. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >The rest of my suggestions are interchangeable. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >I think we need 1 creative, proven midfielder. Names floating about are Modric and Sneijder - again you've heard those before. This is to replace Paul Scholes, someone who can't be replaced. We also need another striker who is proven to just score goals. Even if we keep Berbatov, he hasn't scored in the Champions League for ages and with Owen, Rooney and Hernandez the only other senior strikers, I think we have 2 and a half, at a push 3 proven goal scorers on every stage. In '99, anyone of Cole, Yorke, Sheringham and Solskjaer could have started the game and they would have almost certainly scored or helped a goal be scored; that is not the same with our current crop. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >We have money to spend, I think 2 central midfielders would be ideal, a creative one and a grafter, and a winger as well. I like Young but I am not sure he is the man to make a difference against a Barcelona, but is definitely good for the Premier League. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >What we do need is a flair player. A player who strikes fear in to the opposition - a Cantona, Best or Ronaldo. Someone who can have a bad game but still conjures something up. I don't mind what position he comes in, but we need it. Rooney is very close to being that, but I think there is no harm in signing another one. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >Bring on next season!</span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3446499770838764552-7585920680506958837?l=westandunited.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Raphael Cous Cous Levyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12869650008733846170noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3446499770838764552.post-68957506819285468302011-06-04T13:02:00.000-07:002011-06-19T15:05:03.631-07:002011-06-19T15:05:03.631-07:00What could have been...<span class="Apple-style-span" >My recent post was justified in not being about United because I have had a terrible week and while sitting in a car waiting to leave a G_Dforsaken field having just sold random shit to randomers discovered that I quite like writing. I've always, if I am honest, liked writing and thought I am relatively good at it but I stopped with work constraints. With only one exam left, those constraints are removed and I have all the reasons to write and few not to, so I shall.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >I wanted to explain my week. I would like to make it clear that this week does not compare with what people in the rest of the world are currently suffering - poverty, aids, famine etc etc etc and I do not intend to portray it as such. I do, however, believe that everything is relative to the individual and for me, compared to most, if not all, weeks, this has been particularly bad. Comments on this post from friends have had the strong implication that I am looking for sympathy - I'm not. I'm not denying that a nice hug if you see me would be really good, as even now (2 weeks) I am still not really over it or at least I am still thinking about it, the memories tinged with sadness but I am not looking for sympathy. I just enjoy writing and I know no topic better than my life. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >I thought the week started ok. Nothing special nor worth mentioning really. My penultimate exam went well and then I went to the Battleaxes (a pub) for some lunch with some friends before heading to one of their houses. Looking back, while the day didn't strike me as "bad", perhaps the warning signs for what lay ahead were there. At said friend's house (I haven't bothered to get permission to use people's names here and thus won't) we played Fifa and COD. What seemed fairly irrelevant losses at the time, only seem to have added to my bad week if I really think about it. Yes losing 5-1 and 4-0 at Fifa and dying the most while killing the fewest on COD isn't the end of the world, but it certainly wasn't a fun event nor could I describe it as good. Perhaps slightly more irrelevant in the grande scheme of things, but bad nonetheless. The reason I mention this, is not because losing 4-0 at Fifa is the worst thing that could happen, but because they say that bad things come along in groups and often escalate. This, I think, is a perfect example of that.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >Having been demolished (I have to admit it!) at Fifa and COD, I settled in for the Pink Panther at which point my lift home decided to leave to meet someone. Due to "traffic" (basically he is lazy) he left me stranded as my parents had no idea where I was and were both at work, not expecting to pick me up. Again this seems fairly irrelevant - call your dad/mum, I hear you say. I've been left in the school car park enough times to know that I wasn't getting picked up for a while so really I wouldn't have been surprised to have been at the house for a couple of hours. My parents were busy but my dad said he'd be there asap which I classed as a result. However, the sat nav refused to pick up the road I was on and my dad spent half an hour searching for me. You are probably thinking to yourself "oh stop crying!" and at this point, you would be right - I didn't think anything of these events. Again, bad things happen in groups...</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >As anyone who reads my tweets or knows me will know, I am a massive Manchester United fan. I have a season ticket and travel over 6 hours return to see my team play on my own. If that isn't dedication I do not know what is. You can probably guess what is coming next. Of course I had a ticket to Wembley. I could not wait! Of course I thought we would win when Wayne drew us level - so much hope filled my body at that moment. It was all taken away by a poor goalkeeping error and a moment of genius from Villa - I still honestly believe that, as good as Barcelona were, had Messi's goal (as it should have) been saved, we may have nicked it. I was truly truly truly truly gutted. I mean crying gutted. I don't think I spoke to anyone for 2 days, I cried many times and generally felt horrible. It was truly the worst feeling I (note I) have ever had and I never ever want to feel like that again, nor would I wish it upon anyone (that bad!). There is no doubt that I hit a low that Saturday that affected me at least until Tuesday, if not all week and beyond.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >Tuesday I had high hopes for (as with much of the week to be honest). It was a friends birthday (or close enough to his birthday to have a house party while his parents where away) and I was ready to drink myself to oblivion, possibly inducing some sort of alcohol related coma and frankly I don't think he would have blamed me - in fact granting me permission to drown my sorrows. I decided to wear the brightest clothes I own to try and cheer myself up, and forced on a smile as I gave him his present before indulging in my favourite past times - trying to make people laugh and being sarcastic with those present. Things were looking up! I even tentatively had a cider to start what I hoped would be drinking more than I had ever done before and possibly doing myself damage. But of course, this wasn't my week. Was I going to be able to just drink my way to an alcohol fuelled wonderland? No way! </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >Things at this party turned south pretty quickly, as they often do at house parties - they get on the news with the host saying, "It just got a bit out of hand," as paramedics wheel out the drunk on stretchers and the police question the neighbours. I felt really sorry for the host, he did not deserve what happened next but it is not my business to make comments nor judge the events that occurred independent of me in the next few hours. It was a case of other people (unjustifiably, in my opinion, because I can't imagine they were as depressed as me!) deciding that my idea was a good one and basically they got very drunk. With the party slightly out of control, as were some of the guests, I decided that remaining sober was probably beneficial (a wise move!) and didn't even get to finish my second cider, steering clear of alcohol for the rest of the night. That wasn't too bad, yes I felt bad for the host and was annoyed that my drinking was stopped prematurely but could I really complain? I had, perhaps, just been saved from doing myself serious damage. It was what happened next that forced me down a few more pegs when I thought I was on the bottom peg...</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >...I was meant to be staying over that night, another thing I was looking forward to and hoped would help me forget about Wembley. But then I've already mentioned how this week didn't go my way and indeed I was not going to be permitted to stay over. That, however, is not what forced me down those pegs. Far from it. My mum simply texted me "Do you mind coming home instead of staying over?", which translated into bad news when I got back. My grandmother is not the healthiest of people - she has many conditions associated with older people and many more unfortunate ones. One of those is being paralysed and unable to feel her legs - essentially that got worse. I don't understand why or how, I am led to believe that she had some feeling in one of her legs which is completely gone now but I don't know. Bad things happen in groups...</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >By my calculations that makes Friday through to Tuesday (and Wednesday morning) pretty depressing and bad. Definitely the worst week I've ever had on a personal level (that I can remember). Because Wednesday evening was actually rather good and I thoroughly enjoyed the Kings Of Leon gig/concert (what do you call these things?!) and the company was even better, it doesn't form part of the week I wish to describe to you here. But then they say every cloud has a silver lining! Although (and I apologise if any of the people who I went to KOL with are reading, I did really enjoy it and thank you so much) it is the smallest ever silver lining in what was a pretty damn big cloud at the moment. So Wednesday was a small up point, but one that shouldn't really be dwelled upon as far as I am concerned. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >Thursday was a non-day. Neutral if I am honest and not much really happened. Unless you have an unhealthy interest in what I do when I'm bored or my discussions with my dad, Thursday will be of no interest to you. Friday, however, will.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span">Rebecca Black seemed pretty happy about Friday when she sang about it but I am not so sure she is correct to be so. She was all ready to get down and hoped the weekend would never end. For me Friday was a day tarnished by an event that happens so often. If I could forget it, I would. If I could erase it, I would. If I could undo it, I would. But I can't, so I have to deal with it. </span>If it isn't football, then very little could make me as upset as I was. If you haven't guessed it, then maybe I should clarify my age and gender? 16 and Male. Oh you get it now? Well done!</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >To cut a long story short, I told a girl that I liked her etc etc, but it wasn't to be. There is a lot I could say about this girl, all positive. This girl was willing to give me a lift from school when my parents weren't able to do so. This same girl puts up with me more often than my parents would like to. This same girl laughs at a lot of what I say, and knowing that I am not <i>that</i> funny, I can only imagine she is being incredibly polite and knows how important appearing funny is to me. And that is just the more trivial/tangible stuff. The worst thing? I fear I could have ruined one of the best friendships I have ever had with a girl and feel like such an idiot for possibly doing so. How I could ever think that more could be added to that relationship to make it much better, I do not know. If she is reading, which if I am honest may or may not be a good thing! (A couple of weeks on, I keep dropping subtle hints about my blog so maybe I do want her to read this), I hope that we can return to where we were before. (Boys can be such [selfish] idiots sometimes!) I'd rather not go into this much further, but I also made a dick of myself in relation to it and wish to apologise to that, other, person again. Friday was not a good day and I refuse to ever get down on a Friday ever again and the weekend could not have ended soon enough. Although, I did buy a nice new wallet! (Clouds, silver linings)</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >Can I point out that I am flattered that the people I was with at the time could tell something was up and thank someone, who knows exactly who he is, for everything. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >So there you have it. My week. Whatever your opinion on it, I found it one of the most horrible experiences of my life and hope to never go through it again. Things will get better and I will move on - Manchester United will play in other finals and win, I'll spend as much time as possible with my grandmother and friendships will remain as strong, I am sure. Being the positive person that I am, I will try not to let this get me down, but I am currently rather upset and feel a bit depressed about it all. Fingers crossed for next week and next month and next year and the rest of my life. Thing are looking up.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >I've reread this post quite a few times. It is now almost a week since I posted it and I find reading it makes me smile a bit, if tear a little bit as well. I've renamed it "What Could Have Been" and really, so much about this week could have been amazing. I remember telling school friends I had the best week planned for half term - the Champions League, the party, the concert, Westfields on Friday. Didn't quite go the way I had hoped, if I am honest! </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >I've been reflecting on the post and my week and realised something. My blog has been complimented for being honest and these two paragraphs aren't going to buck that trend. I was thinking about what I would change about the week. Two things flew into my mind straight away - the Party and its ending and the Champions League final. You'll notice that I didn't want to change the <i>other thing</i> and the more I thought about it, I realised that I wouldn't change it. I only thought about how I hope we become better friends and move on as a result but I didn't think about changing the outcome. I still feel like a bit of an idiot for doing it but I can't change that. I can only make the best of the situation, and intend to do so. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >If you look to the paragraph 2 above, you'll notice that I had 4 things planned. I would like to change two of those 4 things but the one thing about my week that wasn't planned, I do not want to change. You can't expect or want to change what you don't plan. Why? Because you never planned the outcome; never actually decided what would be the happy ending; never picked what you wanted to happen. I knew I wanted United to win the Champions League and I knew I wanted to have <i>fun</i> at the party. I never knew I was going to tell her I liked her when I did and I therefore didn't know what I wanted her to say. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >I can't want to change something I didn't know. </span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3446499770838764552-6895750681928546830?l=westandunited.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Raphael Cous Cous Levyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12869650008733846170noreply@blogger.com0